


Dagger in the Heart

by LBlakeField_2020



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Drama, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Movie Re-Write, Movie as a book, My First Fanfic, POV First Person, Violence, World War 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26444749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LBlakeField_2020/pseuds/LBlakeField_2020
Summary: April 6, 1917. Two young British soldiers Lance Corporals Blake and Schofield are ordered to complete what may seem an impossible mission: To deliver a message to a Colonel to stop the next day's attack before dawn. Otherwise, it'd be a massacre. With sixteen hundred men's lives at stake, including Blake's brother, would the two soldiers be able to make it to the Colonel and stop the attack on time?
Relationships: Joseph Blake/Lieutenant Leslie, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic of a sort posted on Archive of Our Own. I'm quite nervous about it since I mostly keep my stories on Word. None of the characters used in this story belong to me or the plot. They all belong to the incredible Sam Mendes who created this beautiful masterpiece known as 1917. This movie was so beautiful and so amazing I just had to write it as a book. Also, if there is a 1917 discord server out there, I'd love to join and share my love for these boys and story ideas! Note: This story is not edited, so if you'd like, you can point out some grammar mistakes and edit suggestions. Enjoy!

APRIL 6, 1917

COOL BREEZE BLOWS around us and through the branches and across the grassy meadow. The warm, spring breeze blows through my dark brown bangs to the side a little but I don’t stir. I can smell rain in the moist air but fortunately, I don’t feel any dripping down on my already damp uniform. Thunder rumbles in the distance, though. It’s soft and almost comforting. Birds chirp as they fly on this cloudy, gloomy April morning. I can hear their wings flapping as they fly overhead. More thunder. Soldiers are laid across the green meadow, chatting softly or even snoring away themselves.  
He lays across from me not too far away from me. Gray metal helmet tipped down over the bridge of his nose, covering those blue eyes of his. Hiding those blue eyes that even I myself couldn’t seem to help stare into for hours. They’re pure blue. Blue as they sky on a sunny day. They’re full of youth. He’s young, nineteen. Youthful and…strapping, I suppose. He’s charming, really. A romantic, that’s for sure. He blabbers nonstop, though. But I don’t mind. He’s the only thing keeping me sane during this bloody war. If it weren’t for him, I’d be crazy. Loss control of myself and run around this very meadow, waving my arms in the air and screaming bloody murder. I guess, if that did happen, you could say I was bait for the Huns to come find us and therefore we get attacked or ambushed. All thanks to me.  
But thankfully, because of him and his endless stories about his childhood or what his future would be like back at home, that hasn’t happened. He’s intriguing, really. His stories are at least. Once he starts, he immediately hooks you in and you don’t want him to stop. He’s hooked too, because he doesn’t stop. He’s a good storyteller, Blake is. Always telling funny stories.  
“Blake!” says a stern, yet calm and collected voice.  
I hear a foot kick Blake’s side, making his packs and belts jingle a bit. For a moment, there’s silence as Sargent Sanders waits for a response. I’m surprised he’s hasn’t stirred. Frustrated, Sargent Sanders kicks Blake again in against his side. A little harder this time.  
“Blake!” Sanders snaps.  
Startled, Blake glances up at him and rubs his groggy eyes with balled fists as he yanks his helmet off his head. He blinks stupidly.  
“Sorry, Sarge,” Blake apologizes as he slowly becomes more alert.  
“Pick a man, bring your kit,” Sanders grumpily orders.  
With a swift turn, we hear his tunic flap behind him as he stomps moodily towards what sounds like the trenches a few feet behind us. The grass crunches beneath each step. I hear Blake’s packs ruffle a bit as he pushes himself off the damp grass. I hear him grunt as he rolls his shoulders back, glancing out towards the open filed in front of us before turning back to face me. I squeeze my eyes shut lightly, pretending to be asleep. I hear his feet stomp towards me. My heart pounds with anticipation. What could Sanders want from us? Want from Blake himself? Why does he need a companion? Why me? Why would he choose me?  
I can see his hand outstretched before me as he hovers over me. A warm, yet tired smile adorns his face. His dimples turned upward. An eyebrow raised underneath his gray helmet. A bracelet dangles from his wrist. Two metal rings adorns his index and ring finger.  
I slowly open my eyes, turning my head upwards to face him. A small smile appears on my face. I couldn’t resist.  
I clasp my hand firmly and respectfully around Blake’s as he heaves me up from my spot. Grinning triumphantly, Blake begins to stretch a bit more. I roll my shoulders back a bit, turning over my shoulder to see where Sargent Sanders has disappeared off too. He’s not that far from us, maybe about four or five feet away? Curious, I bend down to pick up my helmet and put it on. Soon, Blake and I find ourselves meandering through the meadow and pass the soldiers surrounding us.  
“Don’t dawdle!” commands Sargent Sanders, his voice booming and deep.  
“No, Sarge!” Blake says quickly.  
The grassy meadow crunches beneath our muddy boots with each step we take. Soldiers chat about their family, about food, about home (no surprises there) softly while others are still trying to sleep. Like I said, might as well sleep in if you can.  
It’s quiet between Blake and I as we march on towards Sanders. After a while, I hear Blake’s stomach grumble suddenly. It’s rather loud. I shoot him a sideways glance with an eyebrow raised. He really is a bottomless pit.  
“Did they feed us?” Blake asks, almost whines.  
I press my lips together in a fine line and shake my head. “No. Just mail.”  
Blake frowns disappointingly as I fumble for the small, white envelope tucked safely in my tunic’s pocket. I pull it out and hand it to Blake. Narrowing his beautiful blue eyes at the piece of paper, he gratefully takes it. Well, more like snatches it from me. His thin, dusty fingers tears the envelope open. He pulls the small sheet of paper out and spreads it against his palm to read as we walk towards the trenches, Sanders a few feet ahead of us.  
Blake grins lopsidedly and lets out a short, small laugh. He beams as his eyes scan the letter. He folds the paper back into the envelope and tucks it inside his pocket securely. He nudges me in the side with his elbow.  
“Myrtle’s having puppies,” he chuckles.  
I couldn’t help but chuckle as well, forcing a small grin on my face.  
“You get anything?” Blake asks curiously as he glances up at me with a quirked eyebrow.  
I shake my head with a frown, though deep down I really don’t seem to mind about it. “No.”  
“I’m bloody starving, aren’t you?” Blake asks as we continue walking through the meadow and after a few moments of silence between us. “I thought we might get some decent grub here! Only reason why I decided against the priesthood.”  
A soft laugh coming from me. It’s a strange sound.  
We slowly descend down the trenches, Blake scans the area around us rather hungrily. His eyes twinkle with hunger. He even licks his chapped lips at one point. Stomach grumbling, I fumble for my hidden snack in my pocket. I pull it out and began to unwrap it. Blake turns to me and his eyes widen, jaw slacked as we continue to descend down the trench.  
“Where’d you find that?!” Blake asks, shocked.  
I smirk. “I have my uses.” I tear off half of my piece for him, handing it to him. “Here.”  
He takes it, well I should say snatches it, gratefully from my hand. He gulps it down in one bite and I turn to him, a disgusted look on my face. My nose scrunches up, forehead creasing underneath my helmet, my eyes narrow. Did he even taste that?  
He frowns with disappointment, brows furrowing as one side of his cheek chews the food. He swallows it and sticks his tongue out.  
“Taste like old shoe,” he grunts.  
“Cheer up,” I say, turning my gaze forward as we continue to descend further into the trench. “This time next week, it’ll be chicken dinner!” The thought of my sister’s homemade chicken dinner makes my mouth water. Oh, how I yearn for chicken dinner.  
“Not me,” he sighs. “Leave got cancelled.”  
I frown, confused. “They say why?”  
Blake shrugs, shaking his head. “No idea.”  
We leave the grassy meadow behind as we descended even further down the trench. The world slowly disappears with each step and it’s somewhat anxiety inducing to me. Reminds me of the Somme, somewhat. Dark, scary. The smell of corpses lying around you, flies buzzing around the dead bodies on the ground. Gunshots rang out. I find myself ducking instinctively. But I blink back to reality as we continue going deeper. I shake the thought of the Somme years out of my head. That’s in the past now, this is the future, Schofield. Get a hold of yourself.  
We pass along some soldiers who are lined up against the barracks. Some are hunched and huddled in fetal positions, shivering against the cold morning. Teeth chattering as we pass them. Soft murmurs of conversation. Fires are being stoked and put together, food is being prepped. Some snores, some hum a song their mothers used to sing to them quietly to themselves.  
“It’s easier not to go back at all,” I finally say after a moment of complete silence between us.  
Blake registers this, brows furrowing together as he turns to me. He stares at me as though I have grown two more heads. He raises an eyebrow and shrugs, turning back towards the front.  
We pause as a group of soldiers meander by us, carrying someone wounded on a stretcher. We continue walking. After a few minutes, Blake suddenly pauses by the rear of the trench. I nearly collided with him. I frown, confused as to why we suddenly stopped. Blake also frowns in front of me as he is also confused as a couple of soldiers pass by in front of us carrying ammunition, medical and cooking supplies and some are shifting crates.  
“Something’s up,” Blake says as we continue on. I’m following close behind him. “Did you hear anything?”  
I shake my head, an uneasiness makes my chest squeeze with anxiety and my stomach churns with nausea. I gulp, letting out a shaky breath as we make a left. “  
"No,” I say as calmly as I can.  
“Has to be the push, right?” Blake asks as he stands aside to let another chain of soldiers with full arms pass through us.  
We continue on.  
“The bob says we’re going up!” Blake explains.  
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I’m not taking that bet.”  
He frowns as he glances over at me over his shoulder. “Why? Because you know I’m right?”  
I chuckle softly. “No. Because you haven’t got ten bob!”  
Blake laughs and even just his laugh makes me feel all…warm inside. A sign that it’s all going to be okay. That we will win this war and we will go home. A reminder that I, too, can be happy every once in a while. A reminder to keep me sane.  
We turn a right and into another trench. We catch Sanders a few feet in front of us and Blake quickly catches up to him, his packs bouncing a little and his belt jingling as he does so. I quickly follow suit.  
“In your own time, gentlemen…” Sanders says as he waits for us up ahead, his arms folded over his chest.  
“Is there news, Sarge?” wonders Blake as we finally catch up to him.  
Sargent Sanders quirks an eyebrow. “News of what?”  
“The big push! It was suppose to happen weeks ago. They’d told us we’d be home by Christmas!”  
“Yes, well,” says Sargent Sanders. “Sorry to disrupt your crowded schedule, Blake. But the Brass Hats didn’t fancy it in the snow.”  
Blake chuckles and nods. “More’s the pity, Sarge. I could’ve done with some turkey!”  
I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. Are you all about food, Blake?  
“Well, I’ll make sure to relay your displeasure to command.”  
“So, what’s on the card then, Sargent?” I ask.  
“The Huns are up to something,” Sanders explains with a confused and anxious frown.  
Clearly. “Any idea what?”  
“No, but it’s bound to ruin our weekend,” Sanders says grimly as we meander forward in the trench.  
Sargent Sanders shrugs as he glances over at us with a smirk. I frown, narrowing my eyes at him.  
“Never know,” Sargent Sanders hums. “Might be mentions of dispatches for this one if you don’t bugger it up!”  
Sargent Sanders gives us one final look before disappearing before us again. I adjust my tunic, covering any sins that may be underneath. I glance at Blake nervously. Blake nervously tidies himself up and straightens his collar as he leans into me. He then whispers into my ear.  
“Must be something big if the General’s here,” Blake says as he stands in front of me outside the dugout beside us. He nods his head before entering inside.  
I follow suit.  
Lit by paraffin lamps, it takes me a moment to adjust to the sudden darkness in the dugout. I blink a couple of times to adjust my eyes to the sudden darkness. Blake squints as we enter the dugout. In front of us, sits a long wooden table with paraffin lamps on either side. A map is sprawled out on the table before us. A captain and Lieutenant Gordon stands nearby the walls in the dugout. I suddenly shiver. I don’t like this whatever this is.  
There’s the man himself. General Erinmore standing behind the table, hands clenched at the ends of it. He appears to be in his fifties with a silver mustache under his nose, thick too and hair also graying. Crinkles in his cheeks and underneath the corners of his dark brown eyes also show. A sign of old age, I suppose. A gold ring on his ring finger.  
“Lance Corporals Blake and Schofield, sir,” introduces Sargent Sanders.  
Blake and I instantly became alert. Our eyes are wide as we saluted the General before us. Then we relax and became at ease. General Erinmore flickers his eyes up to ours and frowns, pressing his lips together in a straight line. He narrows his eyes at us, scanning us up and down.  
“Which one of you is Blake?” General Erinmore asks.  
Blake salutes and stiffens up. “Sir.”  
“You have a brother? A Lieutenant in the 2nd Devons?” General Erinmore clarifies.  
Blake nods and gulps. Anxiety sparkling in his eyes. “Yes, sir. Joseph Blake. Is he…?”  
“Alive,” General Erinmore hums as he scans over the map. “And with your help, I’d like to keep it that way.”  
By the way Blake is staring deadly at Erinmore, I know for sure he would do anything to protect his brother. Anything at all. By the looks of it, his stiffness at the mention of his brother being in danger or possibly in danger, the way he looks now as General Erinmore tells him about Joseph well. They must be pretty close siblings.  
“Sanders tells me you’re good with maps, true?” General Erinmore huffs as he peers back down at the maps again.  
Blake nods. “Good enough, sir.”  
“So,” Erinmore says. “We are here. The 2nd Devons are advancing here.”  
General Erinmore points towards the end of the map where I suppose is to be the location of the 2nd Devons regiment. I narrow my eyes, peering down at the words above his forefinger. It reads Corisilles Woods.  
“How long will it take you to get there?” General Erinmore wonders, glancing back at us with raised eyebrows. Looking at us expectantly.  
Blake frowns as he studies the map in front of us. I study it. Corisilles Woods sits on the center of a huge area of land which is labeled as occupied territory.  
Occupied territory? I tilt my head as I study the map. My eyes widen slightly as the realization hits me. I glance back up at the General.  
“Sir,” I say. “That land is held by Germans!”  
“The Germans have gone,” assures Erinmore.  
My eyes widen about the size of the moon. Blake does too and his face suddenly turns cloud white. He glances at me and I couldn’t help but grin.  
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Erinmore says with a heavy sigh. “It appears to be a strategic withdrawal. They seem to have created a new line, nine miles backs here by the looks of it.”  
Erinmore frowns as he drags his finger along the map to a red line leading to fortifications that have newly been drawn on the map along with German trenches. I tilt my head, trying to understand it. Blake frowns and he tries to understand the map as well. The new German line – what is known as Hindenburg Line – is huge as well. It cuts its way through the paper, almost intersecting with Corisilles Woods.  
“Colonel Mackenzie is in command in the 2nd. He sent word yesterday morning that he was going after the retreating Germans. He is convinced he has them on the run – that if he can break their lines now, he will turn the tide. He is wrong.”  
Blake’s eyes widen as he slowly begins to register this new information. I gulp anxiously as I turn to glance at Blake, who’s as tense as ever before. I turn my attention back to Erinmore, allowing him to continue. Erinmore nods curtly at me.  
“Colonel Mackenzie hasn’t seen the aerials of the enemy’s new line,” General Erinmore explains.  
Erinmore moves around to another table a few feet across from the first. Curious, I follow Blake to the table. Blake tilts his head to one shoulder as he scans the map on the other table. Erinmore stands behind the table while I stand rather closely to Blake.  
“Come round here, gentlemen,” Erinmore says as we moves towards the other table. He hunches over the table, brows drawn together as he scans the map. Hands clenched at the edges of the table. He glances up at us. “Three miles deep. Field fortifications, defense and artillery the likes of such we have never seen before.”  
A beat.  
“The 2nd are due to attack the line shortly after dawn tomorrow. They have no idea what they’re in for. And we can’t warn them. As a parting gift, the enemy cut all telephone lines.”  
I gulp, eyes slowly widening as anxiety clenches my chest and it suddenly became difficult to breathe. I turn to Blake who stares down at Erinmore hard. His ocean blue eyes are narrow and a frown appears on his face. His face is ghostly white, jaw slackened a little but clenched tightly and firmly. He gulps thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down anxiously. He stares at the map, taking the new information in. He lets out a shuddering breath while I turn back to face General Erinmore himself. “Your orders are to get to the 2nd at Corisilles Woods, one mile south of the east of the town of Ecoust,” Erinmore commands as he pulls out a small envelope with a red stamp of Army Command on the seal. He hands to Blake, who with shaky fingers, takes it.  
“Deliver this to Colonel Mackenzie,” Erinmore says sternly but slowly. “It is a direct order to call of tomorrow’s attack.”  
Blake stares down at the envelope clenched in his hands which shake like a leaf. His whole body appears to be trembling with anger and fear and anxiety in the darkness. Erinmore may not be able to see it happen, but I can. I want to reach out to him, to comfort him and assure him we’ll make it. But now doesn’t look like the time to do so.  
“If you don’t,” Erinmore continues as he watches Blake tremble in the darkness. “It will be a massacre. We would lose two battalions. Sixteen hundred men. Your brother among them.”  
My eyes widen and I can feel the blood out of my face slowly drain away. I stare at Erinmore with disbelief. Sixteen hundred men?! A massacre?! Lieutenant Blake among them? Blake’s eyes widen with shock and he gulps. His face also pales and goes whiter than ever before.  
“Do you think you can get there in time?” asks General Erinmore after a moment of shocked silence.  
Blake nods curtly. “Yes, sir.”  
“Good,” Erinmore says. “Any questions?”  
Blake gulps but says sternly and confidently, “No, sir.”  
I glance over at him, quirking an eyebrow. No questions? I mentally ask him. Blake doesn’t meet my eyes. He stares Erinmore down with a stern scowl on his face, his cheeks tight and jaw clenched. His fists enclosed around the envelope tightly. His body still slightly trembling.  
“Good,” Erinmore says. He nods over at Lieutenant Gordon who stands next to him. “Over to you Lieutenant.”  
We saluted Erinmore who nods back satisfactorily.  
“Supplies, gentlemen,” Lieutenant Gordon says as he gestures towards another table. We follow him slowly and steadily. Blake’s deep blue eyes shine with anger and anxiety. “Maps, torches, grenades, and a couple of little treats!”  
I eye him skeptically as Blake and I meander towards the second table with the various supplies on it. On the table, lays two folded maps, a couple of electrical torches, two grenades along with two Huntley and Palmer biscuits. We grab one for each of us and stuff them in our tunics and packs hastily.  
“Leave immediately,” says Lieutenant Gordon as Blake and I continue to stock on supplies. I glance up at Gordon. “Take this trench west, up on Sauchiehall Street, then northwest on Paradise Alley at the front. Continue along the front line until you find the Yorks.”  
I nod understandably as Blake buttons up his tunic pocket, stuffing his biscuit inside. Gordon puts a note in Blake’s top breast pocket in the right corner and pats it down. “Give this note to Major Stevenson. He’s holding the line at the shortest span of No Man’s Land. You’ll cross there.”  
I nod understandingly again. But I frown as a realization overwhelms me. I feel a sudden wave of nausea churn like an ocean in my stomach. I gulp as I glance back up at Gordon.  
“It’ll be daylight by then, sir!” I gasp. “They’ll see us!”  
“No need to be concerned,” Erinmore assures me. “You’ll should meet no resistance.”  
I gulp hesitantly as I watch Blake finishes adjusting his tunic.  
An Orderly nearby the front of the dugout hands us our rifles. I nod curtly my thanks at them, they nod back. Blake and I swing our rifles over our backs and turn to General Erinmore and Lieutenant Gordon.  
“Sir, is it just us?” I ask before following Blake out of the doorway.  
Erinmore looks up at me and grins. He quirks an eyebrow, cocking his head to one shoulder. “Down to Gehenna or up to the Throne, he who travels the fastest, travels alone. Wouldn’t you say, Lieutenant?”  
“Yes, sir, I would,” Lieutenant Gordon agrees.  
I stare at Erinmore blankly before following Blake into the brightness.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake and Schofield try to convince Lieutenant Leslie to cross over the front lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! I'll try to update it once a day. All characters and plot do not belong to me. They belong to Sam Medes, the creator of this beautiful masterpiece: 1917. Some parts of the story may have little twists here and there and some of it is merely my own imagination and ideas that I just can't seem to get out of my head and had to include it. But please be kind to it, this is my first story posted on Archive of Our Own and I'm quite nervous about it. And title suggestions are welcomed as well as grammar and editing suggestions and as well as idea suggestions for future BlakeField stories.

BLAKE IS GONE in an instant. My heart pounds against my chest as I desperately try to search for him, pushing past maneuvering soldiers who are passing through the trench. My eyes wince at the sudden brightness. I had to use my hand as I visor to block out the bright sunlight shining down on us. Blake is already a few feet ahead of me. He’s upset and angry. I can see that clearly just by the way he stomps through the trench. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a scowl on his face. After a few minutes, I finally catch up to him. I grip Blake’s shoulder hard as I try to slow him down. He doesn’t stop. He just shrugs me off and continues stomping through the trench, occasionally pushing down soldiers if he has too. 

“Blake, let’s talk about this for a minute…” I say, trying to coax him into slowing down. 

“Why?” he breathes, panicking. 

He’s already off before I could give him a logical explanation or reason. I struggle to fasten my webbing and pockets in my tunic as I glance up to see him already making a left. My eyes widen and I let out a groan of frustration. 

“Blake!” I shout after him, desperately trying to catch up to him. Blake goes faster in a punishing pace, boots clattering over floorboards. “We just need to think about it—” Blake glances at me over his shoulder for one quick second. His eyes are wide with fear and he’s panting hard. Sweat trickles down his face. His eyes narrow at me with sudden anger now. I gulp. 

“There’s nothing to think about it’s my big brother!” he snaps at me, pushing past other soldiers who are coming through. 

“We should at least wait until it’s dark!” I protest. 

“Erinmore says to leave immediately!” Blake argues. 

I roll my eyes with frustration. “Erinmore’s never seen No Man’s Land. We won’t make it ten yards. If we just wait—” 

“You heard him! He said the Boche have gone!” 

“Is that why they gave us grenades?!” 

The Second Line now leads us into a small derelict or disuse railway cottages. Braziers have been lit and men still queuing up their rations and portions. Blake and I push through the trench to get around the crush. Blake made it through successfully while I, on the other hand, bump into a random Sargent milling around. 

“Watch where you’re going!” the Sargent orders. 

Heat rises in my cheeks embarrassingly as I desperately try to catch up to Blake. “Sorry!” 

About ten minutes later, I finally caught up with Blake. 

“All I’m saying is that we wait,” I say slowly and out of breath. 

Blake nods. “Yes. You would say that because it’s not your brother is it?” 

I press my lips into a straight line and sigh heavily. Yep. They’re close siblings alright. 

Groaning, I grab his arm and yank him back so now we’re face to face. Blake’s eyes shine with tears. I loosen my grip on his arm only a little but still held him close. “Look. The last time I was told the Germans were gone, it didn’t end well,” I say as calmly as I can. 

Blake shakes his head stubbornly and yanks his arm free from my grasp. We continue jogging down the trench. Blake desperately squeezes in and out of the lines of traffic, his shoulder, and packs battering against other’s men’s shoulders as we pass along. 

“You don’t know Blake! You weren’t there!” I protest, vividly remembering the Somme. 

Up ahead, groups of men huddles around a parcel containing mail from the post bag. Blake silently curses to himself as we make our way through. He puts a hand on one soldier’s shoulder. 

“Excuse me!” Blake says. “Excuse me!” 

We arrive at another junction. I see a painted sign in the corner which reads: Sauchiehall Street. I follow Blake around another similar turn, panting as I desperately try to catch up to him. I swear, I can hear his heart pound anxiously against his chest. Or is that mine? 

Much narrower now, Blake pushes upwards, going the opposite way the traffic is originally going in. I follow closely behind. Sweat trickling down the side of my face. A Sargent snarls at us as we pass through. Blake ignores him, determined. 

“You’re going up a down trench, you bloody idiots!” the Sargent snarls. 

“Orders of the General, sir!” Blake calls over his shoulder as we meander through the trench. 

“Alright,” I say to Blake after a moment of dreaded silence between us. “Say the Boche have gone? Nine miles will take us what? Six hours? Eight at the very most. So, we have enough time to just wait until the sun sets—” 

“It’s enemy territory! We have no idea what we’re walking into!” Blake snaps at me over his shoulder. 

I groan mentally with frustration. “Blake, if we’re not clever about this no one will get to your brother!” 

Blake’s eyes narrow with determination as he growls sternly, “I will.” 

I don’t say anything after that. 

We approach another junction and finally, Blake decides to slow down. I take this opportunity to rest for a moment, catching my breath as I slowly jog up to meet him. I stand next to him as we scan the trench. Blake’s face pales as he suddenly realizes where we are. I think I let out a gasp, or my face has paled as well, I’m not sure. But my eyes are wide. 

“We’re here. This is the front line…” Blake breathes as he begins slowing down his pace. Finally. Maybe now I can try coaxing him into a logical reason why we should wait until dark. But by the determination and fear in Blake’s eyes, it reminds me now isn’t the time to convince him. He’s not in the mood. 

As we slow down our pace, I glance up to see a sign reading: PARADISE ALLY. Not so much of a paradise, I think as I scan the trench with men crowded on the side as they make friction with their hands to keep them warm, as other men carrying wounded soldiers pass us by using stretchers. 

“Now, we just need to find the Yorks,” Blake says as we turn towards Paradise Alley. 

There’s a sudden eeriness here that I don’t like at all. I can’t quite place it but I suddenly feel goosebumps on my arms as I shiver slightly. Blake stands still for a moment and I nearly crash into his back. He scans the alleyway, trying to figure out which way is northwest. I do the same. Once Blake has found it, we head in that direction. 

As we pass through the muddy trench, I couldn’t help but lock eyes with many men as we pass through. They’re eyes, red-rimmed and glassy lock with mine and I gulp. I quickly catch up close to Blake as though he would protect me from them. My packs and rifle jiggle against my back as I run up to Blake. I’ll occasionally catch glimpses of signs reading: KEEP YOUR HEADS DOWN IN DAYLIGHT! SNIPERS ARE AT PLAY! I ignore the sign and continue following Blake single file down the trench. Two stretcher barriers are heading towards us now. A man is being carried between them. I step back, dropping my head down to see the man is unconscious. My face pales and I gulp as I see the crimson red blood seeping through the white bandage around his head, covering his wounded eye. I suddenly begin to feel sick. But I fight the urge to vomit. I follow Blake yet again. 

But when I glance up, I see Blake has disappeared again. Panic swells in my chest as I hope that Blake doesn’t do anything stupid. I curse silently to myself as I make a left. Thankfully, he didn’t do anything stupid. He’s jogging up the trench a few feet ahead of me. I let out a sigh of relief when I see my friend is alive and safe. Blake pushes past a Private with his shoulder blade. The Private yanks Blake backwards by the collar before he could continue on. Anger swells in my chest as I feel the sudden urge to protect Blake. I had to protect him. For his brother. I silently and suddenly made that vow to myself that I’d protect Blake as if my life depended on it. Blake’s blue eyes widen with panic as he struggles to break free out of the young Private’s grasp. 

“Here, watch where you’re shovin’!” Private Stokes snarls. 

Blake grunts as he struggles to yank his arm free out of Private Stokes’s grasp. 

Through gritted teeth, Blake snarls, “Get out of the way then!” 

I finally catch up to the group surrounding Blake. I try to pass other soldiers blocking my way towards him, silently praying that Blake doesn’t do anything stupid. Blake doesn’t. I mean, how could he when his arm is in a tight grasp and pinned behind his back? 

As I finally catch up with the group, I see both are angry. Not a good sign. I gulp as I see Stokes’s eyes are red with anger as he narrows his eyes at Blake. A scowl appearing on his face and a small growl echoes through his gritted teeth. Blake grunts as he struggles to break free. I stop suddenly, shocked a little. Are those tears in Blake’s eyes? 

“Let go!” Blake whines, nearly on the verge of tears. I could tell by the way his voice cracked. 

“Eff you! Who do you think you are? Pushing wounded men around?” Stokes growls as he tugs on Blake’s collar backwards towards him. 

My eyes widen as I push past through the group. Blake gasps and winces, whimpering. He needs me. Don’t worry, Blake. Schofield coming to the rescue. I finally come into the fray, putting myself protectively before Blake and sending Stokes a glare. My hand outstretched before Stokes to tell him to stop. 

“Stop,” I order through gritted teeth. 

Stokes glares at me hard, gripping onto Blake for dear life. I narrow my eyes at Stokes. 

“Arseholes knocked our Sargent down! The man’s effing wounded—” Stokes begins but Blake cuts him off with shiny tears glistening in his eyes. My heart melts as I feel Blake’s fear. I press my lips together in a fine line and sigh heavily as Blake wails. 

“Alright!” Blake wails. “I’m sorry! Alright?! I’m sorry!” 

Blake struggles again, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to yank his arm free from Stokes’s grasp. Tears of frustration and anxiety trickle down his cheeks. I feel helpless. I need to do something. It’s my job to protect him, right? 

My eyes widen as I see Stokes’s fist curled into a tight ball, ready to punch to the living the daylights out of poor Blake. I glance between the two. Stokes’s fist lifted in the air. Blake whimpering and flinching instinctively and I think I hear him whimper out in a small, quavering voice: “Scho…” That’s my cue. 

I stand before Blake protectively. Blake’s eyes open and he grins a little, letting out a small sigh of relief. I glare at Stokes who narrows his eyes at me skeptically. I put a hand on Blake’s chest protectively and a hand out to Stokes, telling him I come in peace. That we come in peace. 

“We’re on a commission. Orders from the General,” I say levelly. 

Stokes fist is still raised in the air. Blake cowers behind me, whimpering as he clutches onto my packs. 

“Let me through!” Blake breathes with wide, bright blue eyes. 

I glance over at him over my shoulder and turn back to Stokes. I let out a slow, calm breath. I sigh heavily and nod at Stokes. 

“Get out of the way,” I say as calmly and collectively as I can. 

Growling with irritation, Stokes finally lowers his fist and steps aside. He glowers at me, well, Blake specifically. 

“Right,” Stokes says. “Just watch where you’re going.” 

“Yes, sir,” I breathed as Blake makes a run for it down the trench. 

I roll my eyes and groan. Here we go again… 

We continue walking on, leaving Stokes and his men behind us. I stay close behind Blake, just in case anyone tries to hurt him. Blake frowns as the trench slowly becomes quiet. Too quiet for my liking. 

“It’s bloody quiet,” Blake says. 

He turns to me with concern eyes, brows furrowed together and forehead slightly creasing as he tilts his head to the side. I gulp as memories from the past haunts me and replays in my head. 

“Was it like this back at Thiepval?” asks Blake curiously. 

I shake my head. The name clicks in my head and my eyes widen but I soon push it away. I let out a shaking breath, clutching my rifle tightly. 

“I don’t remember,” I say dishonestly. I do remember. It was just like this. Quiet, eerily quiet. Dark. The smell of rotting corpses around me as I stand hidden. Shaking with fear as my younger self clutches onto the rifle in his hands. 

“Scho?” Blake says, snapping me back into reality. “You alright there, mate? You zoned out there for a minute.” 

“W-What?” I say, turning to face him. He quirks an eyebrow expectantly at me. He knows I was lying then. “Oh. I’m fine, Blake. Come on, let’s go.” 

“You don’t remember the Somme?” Blake says suddenly, forcing me to stop in my tracks. 

I hesitate, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Of course, I remember it. How could I possibly not forget something that horrific out of my head? How could anyone? But I lie to him again, mostly because I don’t want to discuss about it right now. 

“Not really, no,” I say quietly. 

Blake scoffs, rolling his eyes with a stupid grin on his face as he nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. “Well. You did it alright out of it. At least, wear your ribbon.” I sigh heavily. I would if I have it. 

“Don’t have it,” I say simply. 

At the corner of my eye, I see he’s raised an eyebrow. His eyes wide with disbelief and his jaw slackens a little. 

“You lost your medal?!” Blake gasps. 

Before I could answer though, the trench suddenly expands before us. I nod towards him, crouching down a little as I gesture at Blake to follow along. He nods, following me slowly. 

“Stay low,” I whisper to him. And stay close to me, I mentally tell myself. 

As if reading my mind, Blake does. He stays crouched down as we meander through the trench, passing through men. Blake is close to me as well. Good. A digger turns to me, his voice in a hushed, hoarsely whisper. 

“God’s sake, careful there!” the digger exclaims, shooing me away with his shovel. “You’re steppin’ on the dead!” 

I glance at the sandbag next to me. It’s about 15 by 25 inches. I furrow my brows, confused. Blake tilts his head. My eyes widen and my jaw slackens. It isn’t until I see the crimson red rusting through it that I realized it was blood. My stomach churns. 

“That’s our Sargent—” Harvey, according to his nametag on his breast pocket, says. 

I quickly hop off the bag, making a gagging noise behind my shoulder. Blake pats my shoulder sympathetically. 

“Be better washing them out of this dugout with a bloody hose!” Harvey complains. 

“Do you know where the Yorks are?” asks Blake. 

“Next bend,” Harvey says, nodding his head to the right. “You’ll be standing on top of half of them. Shot to hell two nights ago.” 

Blake gulps and glances at me anxiously. I nod, encouraging him to keep going. So, with that, we do. We slip around the bend into a small bay. 

We stop suddenly when we caught up with two more men huddled nearby. One is burning lice with a lighter, struggling to get the lighter to light up while the other, Private Buchannan, I believe his name was, sits against a small wall. His dog perched on his lap, looking all sad like with droopy ears and a pout on the dog’s face. 

“Yorks?” I ask Buchanan, who nods. 

“Yes, Corp,” Buchanan says glumly. He looks tired. I don’t blame him. We all do at this point in the war. We all just want it to be bloody over with and head home. 

“Where’s Major Stevenson?” asks Blake. 

“Killed a couple nights ago, Corporal,” Buchanan says with a defeated sigh through the nose. He shakes his head disappointingly. “Lieutenant Leslie has command now.” Blake’s ears perks up and his eyebrows are raised, he’s shocked and surprised. Flabbergasted. I frown, tilting my head with confusion. What’s so special about Leslie? 

“Lieutenant Leslie? Did I hear that right?” asks Blake, flabbergasted. 

Buchanan nods. “Yep. Why? You know him?” 

Blake nods with a mischief twinkle in his eye and a lopsided grin as positive memories overwhelms his brain. “Yeah. We’re uh…we’re family, basically. Leslie and I.” Buchanan and I both stare at Blake as though he had just grown two more heads. Blake stutters as he tries to come up with an logical explanation for what he means, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red when he sees me gawking at him. Blake chuckles nervously as he rubs the back of his neck. 

“Uh…oh. Well, I’m uh…I’m like a son, to Leslie. He came to live with my brother for a while before this war started. It’s a long story,” Blake explains. Buchanan’s eyes widen. “Your brother? You mean, Blake? Joseph Blake?” 

Blake nods. “Yeah. I’m his brother.” 

“Dear God!” Buchanan gasps. “What are you doing all the way over here?” 

Blake chuckles. “Relax, Private. My friend, Scho, and I were to deliver a message to Colonel Mackenzie to stop tomorrow’s attack shortly before dawn at the 2nd where Joe is. If we failed, well. It’ll be a massacre, according to General Erinmore. Sixteen hundred men. Including my brother.” 

“My God…” Buchanan breathes. 

“My God…” he runs a hand through his hair stressfully. His eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re serious?” 

I nod. “He is, sir.” 

Buchanan turns to me, narrowing his eyes at me and a scowl appears on his face. He jabs an index finger at me. “Now, listen here Lance Corporal. You protect Blake, you hear me? That’s an order.” 

I nod in understanding. “Yes, sir. I will. Most definitely.” 

“Blake has a…well…he’s brave yet stupid at the same time,” Buchanan chuckles. 

“Hey!” Blake protests. 

I let out a soft laugh and so does Buchanan. I decided now was the time to get back to the subject at hand. 

“Where do we find Lieutenant Leslie, sir?” I ask Buchanan. 

Buchanan nods towards the end of the line. “Next dugout.” 

So, with that, Blake and I follow the end the trench and into the next dugout where we slowly approach a sleeping Lieutenant Leslie. My nose twitches with disgust and a scowl appears on my face. He’s wretched! Since when was the last time he had a shower or even bathed?! Then again, since when was the last time I bathed? I nod towards Blake to come along. He approaches close behind me. “Here.” 

Getting a closer look, we see Leslie is fast asleep on a small bed with an arm over his eyes. Blake’s eyes soften and a fond smile appears on his face as he remembers his past with Leslie. 

“Les?” Blake says slowly as he approaches Leslie closer. 

I frown, curious yet confused. Les? Must be a nickname. 

Leslie doesn’t move. He snores like a lawn mower on the other hand, though. Blake sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. 

“Lieutenant Leslie, sir?” he says, a bit louder this time. 

Leslie grunts awake but he hits his head on top of the bunker. He winces and so does Blake. 

“Ow!” Leslie grunts. “Bloody bastard!” He drunkenly turns towards us and squints at us. He frowns, eyeing me skeptically. “What do you want?” 

“We have a message from General Erinmore, Les,” Blake sighs sadly. 

Leslie’s eyes widen as his vision becomes clearer by the looks of it. Blake and Leslie lock eyes with each other. I suddenly feel like an intruder, intruding a family reunion. I feel awkward. I press my lips together and step aside to let them have their short family reunion. 

Blake gives Leslie a small smile, that trembles slightly. 

“Tom?” Leslie asks Blake, who nods. 

“Yeah, Les. It’s me,” Blake says. 

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” Leslie asks, shocked. He turns to me and growls like a bear, narrowing his eyes at me. I gulp. “And who’s he? Your boyfriend? If so, what intentions do you have towards my son?” 

Blake blushes furiously and whacks Leslie against the head. Leslie shoots Blake a glare while rubbing his injured head again. Blake jabs an index finger at him. “Don’t start, Les,” Blake growls, his cheeks still red. “And Scho’s not my uh…my boyfriend. We’re just mates is all. Have been since this bloody war started, really.” 

“Scho?” Leslie says stupidly. 

“Oh! Schofield, Les. Scho is short for Schofield, though I’m the only one who’s allowed to call him that,” Blake says and it’s true. No one else can call me “Scho” but him. 

I walk forward towards Leslie who eyes me suspiciously with his arms over his chest. I hold out my hand for him to shake. 

“Lance Corporal William Schofield, sir. I’m uh…Tom’s mate as he said. It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” I intrude with a nod of my head as we shook hands firmly. Leslie seems to calm down a little. His dark brown eyes scans me up and down and a grin on his face. 

“You’re right, Tommo. He is quite handsome. Muscular, properly fit, admiring. A hero, perhaps. Your hero? Joe would highly approve, that’s for sure. He has a thing for military men, you know?” 

“Leslie!” Blake hisses as he whips Leslie’s head again with his hand. “Shut it! God. Sometimes I wonder how Joe could deal with you all day everyday back home.” 

Leslie chuckles and ruffles Blake’s hair who embarrassingly swats at Leslie’s hand. Blake huffs, folding his arms over his chest and sticking his tongue out at Leslie who merely rolls his eyes. I just stand there in the middle of the trench all awkward like. Leslie turns to me, the side of his face glistens and I frown a little. He looks ill. His face glistens with sweat and the whites around his irises are red-rimmed and he has dark circles underneath his eyes. Blake curls up next to his father-like figure for a bit. Leslie wraps an arm protectively around Blake and presses a fatherly kiss to Blake’s temple. I smile fondly at the small family. Leslie turns back to me again, narrowing his eyes at me. 

“Are you our relief?” he asks suddenly. 

I shake my head, my fondly smile slowly fading. “No, sir” 

Leslie scoffs and rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Then when the effing hell are they due?!” 

“We don’t know, Les,” Blake says, looking up at his father-like figure. Blake hesitates but then sighs. “You’re not going to like this, Les. But uh…Scho and I have orders to cross here…” 

Leslie’s eyes widen as Blake hands him the letter that’s supposed to be for Mackenzie. Leslie takes it and reads it, his mouth slightly parted as he reads the words to himself. He begins to shake his head back and forth. 

“No,” Leslie says firmly. “No. Nuh-huh. You’re not going up there, Tom.” 

“Les, I have too!” Blake protests. 

“This is the German front line!” Leslie snaps, his eyes panicking, flickering around frantically. 

Blake nods. “We know, Les. If you’d just take the letter!” 

Leslie reads it one more time and scoffs. “Settle a bet. What day is it?” 

Blake exchanges confused glances with me. I shrug and we turn back to him. 

Frowning, I say slowly, “It’s Friday, sir.” 

Leslie chuckles. “Friday. Well. Well, well, well. None of us was right. This bloody idiot thought it was Tuesday.” Leslie glances back down at the letter, shock displaying on his face vividly. “Are they out of their effing minds?! One slow night, and the brass think the Hun have just gone home?!” 

I glance at Blake while asking Leslie, “Do you think they’re wrong, sir?” 

Leslie sighs, handing the letter back to Blake. He turns to me. “We lost an officer and three men two nights ago. They were shot to bits patching up wire. We dragged two of them back here. Needn’t them bothered.” 

“Les, the General is sure the enemy have withdrawn. They have aerials of the new line—” Blake protests, determined to press on. 

Leslie suddenly rises to his feet and shakes his head stubbornly. He jabs a finger at Blake. 

“Shut up,” Leslie hisses at Blake, who’s face is pale with shock at the sudden outburst and eyes are wide. Jaw set and locked though. “We’ve fought and died almost every inch of this effing place! Now they suddenly give us miles?!” He shakes his head, tears brimming in his eyes. I could tell by the way Blake’s expression softens that he wants to comfort his father-like figure. “No. I’m not letting you, Tom. I promised Joe that I would protect you.” 

Blake gulps and sighs with frustration. “Les—” 

“No. It’s a trap. But chin up. There’s a medal in it for sure. Nothing like a scrap of ribbon to cheer up a widow,” Leslie says, staring at me with narrow eyes. 

I gulp as he leans closer to me. A little too close for my liking. Our noses are now almost touching and we’ve suddenly locked eyes with each other. 

“You listen to me, Lance Corporal, do you understand?” Leslie growls. 

I nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“You protect Tom, you hear me? He’s like a son to me. A son I never had. He means the world to me. To both Joe and I, you understand? I swear, if you hurt my boy or if you let him get hurt, you’re dead. You’re dead to me, Schofield. I swear, I will slice your head off with a bloody ax in your sleep if we ever get out of this bloody war. Is that clear, Lance Corporal?” 

I stare at Leslie with wide eyes as though he had just grown two heads. I blink stupidly at him and I nod slowly, letting out a shaky breath. Blake merely rolls his eyes behind Leslie’s back with his arms over his chest. 

“Yes, sir,” I say as calmly as I can. 

“Good,” Leslie says, backing off of me a little. And now it’s like I can suddenly breathe again. 

“Where’s the nearest way through, Les?” Blake asks, breaking the sudden tension. 

Leslie turns to face him over his shoulder. He presses his lips in a taut line and sighs heavily through his nose. Leslie gulps, hard. 

“Our wire’s a mess,” Leslie begins and nods his head towards the far end of where we stand right now. “But there is a path through, of sorts.” We follow Leslie down a few paces to a small dead-end lookout trench. Half of it Earth, half of it steel. At the end of it, I see a rudimentary periscope. 

“Rushworth! Let him look!” Leslie calls out. 

The solider, Rushworth, manning the periscope grumpily steps aside to let us have a look. Blake presses his eye against the lenses, his other one squinting a bit. “Straight ahead to the left, straight ahead, past the dead horses…” Leslie begins with his arms folded over his chest. 

I glance over at Blake to see him squinting into the periscope. Following Leslie’s directions, he moves the periscope towards the left and stares into the lenses straight ahead like Leslie had said. At the corner of my eye, I see Leslie lighting a cigarette with shaky hands. 

“There’s a gap directly behind them,” Leslie continues, plopping the cigarette between his teeth and well smokes. Leslie shrugs as he leans against the barracks, arms still crossed over his chest as he smokes. “Useful, cause if it’s dark, you follow the stench. When you get to the second wire, look out for the bowing chap. There’s a small break just beside him.” 

Blake steps aside to let me have a turn with the periscope. I crouch down slightly and peer on inside, my left eye squinting as my right eye follows Leslie’s instructions. Sure enough, I can see the rotten, dead corpses of the horses just a few feet ahead of us. I can see the chap Leslie is talking about. I gulp thickly, remembering the Somme very vividly. It was similar to this but more gruesome and horrifying. A living nightmare, really. 

“The German lines are a hundred and fifty odd yards after that,” Leslie explains, eyeing me suspiciously. Brows furrowed together with his arms still crossed over his chest and a scowl appear on his face. Blake obviously notices and whacks Leslie against the head. Leslie winces and rubs the back of his head, shooting Blake a deadly glare. Blake sticks his tongue out at his father-like figure and rolls his eyes. 

“Stop it, Les! You’re intimidating him! Relax!” Blake hisses. 

Leslie merely rolls his eyes as he continues on. “Watch out for the craters. They’re deeper than they look. You fall in, well, there’s no getting out.” 

I gulp and Blake’s face pales, blue eyes wide as he gulps too. Leslie sighs heavily and leads us down further into the trench. He waves his hand, gesturing us to follow him. “This way,” Leslie says and reluctantly, Blake and I follow. 

On the way, Leslie kicks a sleeping Private. His name reads KILGOUR. I quirk an eyebrow at Blake, who shrugs. What an odd name. Yet Schofield and Leslie are odd names too. Only Blake seems to be the reasonable name around here. 

“Wake up, Kilgour!” Leslie demands as he kicks the Private in the side with his foot. Leslie rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Bloody waste of space…” 

“Anywhere to cover, sir? Anywhere to jump off from?” I ask. 

Leslie leads us to a wide ladder leaning against a trench wall. He leans his shoulder against it and shakes his arm, eyeing me and his lips pressed together in a taut line. He sighs heavily through his nose. 

“No. The sap trench was blown to hell weeks ago. It’s full of bodies anyways. Your best bet, is to pop over here,” Leslie explains, nodding his head towards the ladder. “If you do get shot, try to make it back to the wire. We won’t come after you, not until it’s dark. And if by some effing miracle you do make it, send up a flare.” 

I sigh and shake my head. “Don’t have any, sir.” 

Leslie rolls his eyes and groans. He turns to face Kilgour and snaps, “Well get him one, Kilgour!” 

Kilgour scrambles to his feet hastily and fumbles for a flare. While he does so, Leslie amuses himself as he splashes his liquor onto Blake and I’s shoulders. I glance at Blake who locks eyes with mine before turning back to face Leslie with an arched eyebrow. 

“Through this holy unction, may the Lord pardon thee whatever sins or faults thou hast committed,” Leslie says as he splashes his liquor onto us. Leslie laughs as he screws his cap onto his flask back on, tucking it into his pocket. Kilgour comes scrambling back with a pistol flare and two cartridges. Leslie takes them, well like Blake, snatches them from Kilgour and hands them to us. Huh. Now I see where Blake snatches things from. 

“I do hate losing these to the Huns,” Leslie sighs as he hands them to Blake. “So, when they do start shooting at you, could you be so kind to throw it back? There’s a good chap! Cheerio!” 

Blake sighs shakily as he tucks the flare into his pocket. Leslie embraces Blake one last time and rather tightly. Blake tries to hold his tears as he buries his face into his father-like figure’s neck. Leslie presses a fatherly kiss to Blake’s forehead as they break apart. I stand aside into the small group of men that have suddenly crowded around us to watch curiously and anxiously. I give Blake and Leslie some time together, but I can still make out their conversations. 

“I love you, alright, Tom?” Leslie whispers, not meaning for anyone to hear as he grips Blake’s shoulders tightly, lifting Blake’s chin up to meet his eyes. Blake nods, letting out a shaky breath. “I know, Les. I love you too. You’re the best Dad I could ever have and I couldn’t be more grateful.” 

Leslie chuckles and ruffles Blake’s hair fondly with a small smile on his ill-stricken face. 

“You deliver that message to Mackenzie, you hear me? If you do manage to get to Joe, tell him I love him as well and I miss him ever single day, alright?” Leslie says. 

Blake nods again, embracing Leslie one more time. “I will. I promise. I love you, Les.” 

“Love you too, kiddo. Always. Now, go. You boys don’t have much time. And Schofield?” Leslie says, turning to me with a glare. 

I quirk an eyebrow. “Yes, sir?” 

“Remember what I said. If you let him get hurt, so help me.” 

“I won’t, sir,” I promise. “I promise. I’ll bring him back home to you and Joe.” 

“Good. You better. Now get on you two.” 

Leslie steps back as Blake and I finish adjusting our tunics before turning to face the ladder leading above the trench. I gulp, turning to Blake who grips the side of the ladder and lets out a shaky breath. 

“You sure?” I ask Blake. 

He gulps but nods. “Yes.” 

Blake glances at Leslie, his father I should say, hesitantly. Leslie presses his lips together in a small line and nods encouragingly. Blake gulps again and turns back to the ladder. He begins to climb up, but remembering my orders to protect him, I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Blake glances at me with a raised eyebrow and a confused expression on his face. 

“Age before beauty,” I whisper before advancing up into the enemy lines.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schofield and Blake cross the front lines and into No Man's Land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters and plot belong to Sam Mendes. They are not mine.

I BRACE MYSELF as I advance up on the ladder, putting on foot in front of the other, one hand on top of the other as I climb over the trench. I can hear a collective tensed gasp behind me. I slowly peek my head over the trench, scanning the area slowly in a three hundred sixty degree view. It’s quiet out here. Too quiet. I suddenly begin to regret all of this. My hands are shaking like a leaf as I advance further up the ladder. Everyone below me is breathless, anxious. Waiting for the enemy fire. I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a shaky breath before pulling myself up over the ladder into No Man’s Land. 

The ground itself is dark and stick, treacle like. Almost as thick as syrup. My hands and knees sink into it and I make a disgusted face at the syrupy feel of the mud. My eyes are trained through the British wire and towards the German lines. 

The world around me is lunar and empty. Quiet as I’ve said before. Maybe General Erinmore was right. Maybe the Huns have gone on home. Don’t get your hopes up, Schofield. As I slowly and cautiously scan No Man’s Land, the area appears to be blown to bits. Nothing lives. There’s nothing left of this place. It’s vacant. Empty. Deserted. The only sound I can make out though, is Blake’s soft breathing next to me. I suddenly feel a sense of calm wash through me. He’s safe, that’s all I care about right now. 

We’re still for a moment, waiting for the dreaded attack. Waiting for the enemy to come blowing us up to bits. We hear something scatter before us. It’s small and quick. Perhaps a squirrel but you could never be too sure. I grab Blake’s shoulder and yank him down with me now we’re hunched down low on our knees, safe from the enemy. 

British wire run along in loops ahead of us, tangled haphazardly. It’s going to be a mess to navigate through. I silently curse to myself at the realization. We get to our feet and stealthily move forward over the slick Earth below us. Towards the dead horses like Leslie instructed. We breathe through our mouths instead of our noses, trying to get used to the rotting stench. 

Ahead of us, a layer of covers the animals as we close in on them. As we slowly approach the dead corpses of the horses, though, we see they’re actually flies not fur. There’re hundreds of them above the dead horse, buzzing about. 

I move past the remains and through the first break of the wire. The path is pocked with craters and puddles, shrapnel litters everywhere. Blake follows closely behind me through the channel. Ahead of us, I see the second wire where what Leslie called “the bowing chap” lays. Close up, it appears to be a dead German soldier. He’s bent and doubled over the wire. One arm is stretched out in a courtly manner as if he’s bowing. 

I don’t intend to linger around the dead German soldier. I couldn’t dare look at his face. I keep my composure calm and steady as I focus on the task at hand. At the corner of my eye, to the side of the man, I see a small gap of razor wire. It’s easy to miss without the landmark. I grunt as I struggle to pull apart the dense tangled up wire for Blake to pass through. Blake nods his thanks at me as he slides through. I follow close behind. 

As I do, though, I somehow manage to slip into the mucky mud itself. The barbed wire cuts into my palm and I let out a sharp hiss of agony as I peer down to investigate the small wound. The wire hooks into my palm and red crimson blood oozes out of the punctured hole in my palm. I hiss again and wince as I slowly pull my palm away from the wire. Bright red seeps through the punctured wound in my palm. I wince and hiss in agony silently as I press my palm against my lips. I lower it back down and hiss again, forming a small fist and squeeze my eyes shut as the pain seers through my body all the way from my palm. 

“You alright?” Blake whispers, glancing over at me over his shoulder when he suddenly realizes that I wasn’t following him. 

I press a soft kiss to the wound, almost like a mother would if her child has a small boo-boo on his knee to “make it better.” I nod with a grunt and a grimace followed by a sharp hiss coming out of me. 

“Yeah. I’m fine. Look for cover,” I say through gritted teeth. 

Blake nods at my orders and he turns back towards the front. This land feels and smells unnatural. It looks unnatural too, like a far off different planet. Like perhaps it could be Mars or somewhat. Craters are excavated out of the Earth filled with liquid mud. I squint my eyes to see there’s something like a rise and fall followed close by the craters. About a hundred yards or so from us, in the distance, is an artificial horizon. It looks like it’s made of mesh or something grayish like. It stretches out the entire land. My eyes widen. The German wire. Occasional dead trees lay across the mesh and on top of each other and down the land beyond. Blake goes near the closet crater. He glances at me over his shoulder. My eyes find what used to be a path. But it isn’t. There isn’t one. I glance back up at Blake and nod firmly. 

“Sap trench,” I whisper. 

I climb down first, crouching low yet moving fast. We don’t have time to dawdle and linger around. Joe’s life depends on us. I steady myself down the Sap Trench. Blake is hovering over me above the trench, watching me with tense eyes as he waits for instructions. I gulp and let out a shaky breath before leaping directly into the Sap Trench itself. I land on my feet, thankfully. I check my wounded palm and wince. It’s pulsing blood, dripping down towards my wrist. I suddenly feel an uneasiness around me. My chest tightens and my shoulders stiffen a little. I turn to see a German soldier laying face down in the mud with bloody rats covering and scrambling over him. The rats are feasting into the dead corpses. I make a gagging noise as my nose twists with disgust. But I have to remain calm. 

I hear Blake leap down next to me. But he’s not exactly right next to my shoulder. I turn to see Blake had landed right on top of the soldier. Blake makes a shrieking noise and scrambles off of the dead corpse with the rats, blue eyes wide with fear and nose scrunching up with disgust. He stumbles backwards towards me and nearly bumps into me. He does and I slip. My eyes widen as I struggle to catch my balance. My hand finds the first thing it lands on which is another dead German soldier. It goes right through the putrid flesh. 

Blake’s eyes widen and he stands frozen still with horror. Petrified. Traumatized. I lift my free hand up to him, a gesture saying to “Stay calm.” Blake nods shakily, trying to steady himself and breathe. Trying to calm his nerves. My hand that’s in the dead soldier’s flesh slowly comes out and Blake nearly gags. I whisper to him to remain calm and breathe. He nods and follows me through the further side of the Sap Trench. We arrive at the German wire a few minutes later, about eighty yards from where we were. We’re huddled against each other. I take the lead. I pull myself out the Sap Trench and Blake follows. We move forward, crouched and low. Watching. Waiting for guns to open in on us. 

There’s nothing here though but silence. Complete and utter silence. Eerily silence. As we approach the wire now, the land is now flattened a bit. Silence. There’s nothing here but emptiness and eerie silence. But we keep moving forward, kept crouched and low, focused and determined. The mud, though, feels more like oil than actual mud to me. It’s slick underfoot. I freeze when Blake tenses up. His eyes widening again and a small whimper comes out of him. Before us, there’s bodies. Outlines of guns and shrapnel, unexploded shells. That’s when we hear them. 

We move quickly towards the nearest shell which appears to be a hole. We throw ourselves in, huddled with our knees pressed up to our chests and our rifles close to our chests. Gray metal helmets tipped down as huddled close to each other for each other’s protection. Blake’s breathing becomes heavier, his eyes widening as we hear the planes roar to life above us.

I glance up at Blake, mouthing, “Don’t move. Stay still.” 

The engines grow suddenly louder. Blake whimpers with fear as he clenches his eyes shut, his teeth bared together as he braces himself for what fate lays ahead. They fly directly above us and as if we weren’t there at all, they fly straight ahead right past us. Confused, both Blake and I turn to see where they’re headed or why they haven’t shot us down. My tensed shoulders slum a little with relief. I turn to Blake. 

“They’re ours,” I whisper. 

He also lets out a sigh of relief and nods slowly in understanding. I nod my head forward, gesturing him to keep going. 

“Keep going. We’re half way,” I say. 

Blake nods and we climb up the hole. We move forward and continue crawling through the open expanses. Large shell holes appear on either side of us. We pick our way through them, balancing on the ridges. We climb on top of a small hill rock when suddenly we both gone vertigo. We lose our balance for a split second but slowly regained it. The ground falls away steeply in the mine crater. It goes stories deep. 

Heart pounding against our chests, we look down into it, aiming our already cocked rifles down the hole. Nothing. 

“There’s a gap in the wire,” Blake says. 

The nearest line to the German wire has been split by the blast by the looks of it. It hangs limply down the side of the wall of the crater, the other half of it disappears into a huge pool of water at its base. We meet each other’s gazes. It’s an obvious way through the way, though. We need to go down the crater. 

We slide carefully down the steep bank. At the base of the crater, the water is fathomless. The color of mucus and the same thick, gross consistency too. A dead German floats through it and I restrain myself from making any gagging noise, of showing any kind of weakness. 

Blake follows my exact footsteps close behind me. Good. I can’t lose him. I made too many promises. He walks around the edge of the pool, nose twitching up with disgust as he watches the dead German float aimlessly through the pool. He shivers. I know, I know. Just hang in there, Blake. 

I climb up the slope first, grunting and hissing in pain with the wound in my palm. I sit crouching above the slope, waiting for Blake to hurry up. I hear him though, he’s close by. He grunts and whimpers as he tugs along. I peer down the slope to see what on Earth is taking him so long. I quirk an eyebrow at him. He gives me a pleading look. 

“Scho…” he grunts, holding out his outstretched hand. 

I clasp his hand firmly and help him up the slope. The main German wire is a huge thicket of razor-sharp wire. I look. Close to me, caught on wire, is a small clump of human hair which blows against the soft breeze. 

Hands clutching our bayonets tightly as we dig ourselves deep into the muddy bank, we haul ourselves over the crater. Ahead of us, is the German Front Line. We made it. 

Blake grins and points with his index finger, shouting in a hushed whisper, “There! That’s the front line!” 

Blake nods curtly at me and we clutch our bayonets closely to our chests as we approach the German line. Blake moves first, quickly approaching the German trench. I follow closely behind him. We both stand tall and stiff, bracing ourselves as we suck in a huge breath as we lean over the German sandbags. Our rifles sweep down in unison, cocked and ready to fire as the end of the rifles are pointed down the trench. Nothing. It’s empty. Totally empty. Huh. Maybe they were right. 

I turn to Blake, quirking an eyebrow. Blake’s eyes widen with surprise and shock. 

“Eff me,” he breathes. But he doesn’t say “eff” necessarily. “They really have gone!” 

We take this opportunity to look around us in complete awe and disbelief. It’s massive, the trench is. Fortified and it appears to be abandoned. Sporadic shell holes have levelled in large sections. We drop down into the trench itself. I have to admit, this trench is better crafted than ours. It’s deeper and well reinforced and eerily empty. We’re totally alone. Blake was right. They really have gone! 

To one side, the trench is smashed in with a mountain of Earth and debris. It’s blocked. I crouch down to attend my poor bleeding palm. The deep maroon red blood is still oozing out of it. 

“Your hand alright?” asks Blake, his eyes shining with concern. 

I glance up at him and sigh heavily. “Put it through an effing German.” 

I take my canteen and unscrew the lid. I splash the water onto the wound and hiss a little as it suddenly begins to fire up inside me. As I continue to tend to my wound, Blake decides to take first watch. 

“Patch it up,” Blake says with a mischievous grin on his face. “You’ll be wanking again in no time!” 

I smirk, chuckling a little. I glance up at him with raised eyebrows. “Wrong hand.” 

Blake laughs softly and I couldn’t help but grin. He’s the only one around here that could actually get a smile out of me. Blake adjusts his rifle in between his armpit and hands clutched tightly on the middle and towards the end of the rifle. He aims, getting ready as he heads off first. 

I wrap a bandage around my wound and gripping my bayonet, I follow Blake closely. I wrap the wound with the bandage as we move along. I tighten the dressing with my teeth and a small grunt comes out of me as I pull the strand securely. The white gauze is now stained with red. Ahead of us, is a brazier full of white coal dust. Blake kicks it over with the edge of his foot. We watch the coal roll off to the side and crumple to ashes. Blake’s eyes shine with anger and frustration, a pout forming on his face. I must admit, it’s kind of adorable seeing Blake all angry like this. 

I turn to him, my eyes shining with fiery embers too. I growl silently. “They’re not all gone.” 

Blake tightens his rifle and continues forward. Blake leads me into a narrow trench. He creeps forward quickly, like a stalker, his eyes darting back and forth and up ahead, searching for the enemy. I stay close behind him, ready to protect him at all costs. Just as I had promised. 

Blake hovers over another trench, peeking out. It’s another dead end. Blake tsked and shake his head unfortunately. He glances back at me with sad eyes. 

"No good,” he sighs. 

I’m at his back. Our eyes scan the empty second line trench. It’s deserted. Or so it seems. We push on with silence. 

I wince each time our footsteps click and echo against the duckboards. But we continue forward, our bayonets pointed and ready to fire and checking. Ahead of us, the trench is destroyed. Earth, sandbags, and huge splinters of timber jut out of dirt. 

“Blocked,” I mutter, eyeing the damage. 

It’s impassable. Next to us, I spot a dugout. I narrow my eyes to get a better view of it. It’s a doorway. Blake goes first, poking his head into the darkness. Blake nods, waving his hand in a gesture for me to come forth. So, I do. 

“This might be a way through!” Blake gasps. 

We click through the torches and move down the stairs. Whole tree trunks have been used to reinforce walls. We share an awed look. The sophistication of the Germans amazes both of us. Well, I’m slightly jealous. At the foot of the steps, Blake turns the corner. His eyes widen again and his face pales. His jaw drops. 

“My God…” he breathes, scanning the area before us. 

I follow Blake into the dugout and I turn a corner where Blake had gone to find him holding out a torch. With his jaw still dropped to his shoulder and eyes wide, Blake gasps, “Look at this! It’s massive!” 

It is massive alright. The entire barracks is carved out of the chalky Earth. It’s ghostly in here with the torch creating a faint glow before us. Timber struts all along the ceilings and walls. Rows of bunk beds run along the length of the colossal room before us and all the way up to the ceiling. My eyes are wide in complete shock and my jaw is dropped. 

“They built all of this?” wonders Blake in a hushed whisper. 

We move through it, our torchlight slicing through the darkness. It’s far more impressive compared to ours. Ours is somewhat a piece of junk. My eyes catch something at the corner of them. I squint at it, tilting my head slightly to one shoulder. I walk slowly close up to it. I realize it’s a photograph pinned on the wall. It appears to be somebody’s wife and child on the bedframe. My heart sinks, realizing with the dreaded fear that this soldier may never got to see them again. Let the wife and child never got see him again. I wonder how they’re reactions were when they discovered the news about their loss. I wonder what mine would be if my sister and nieces back home in London were to found out I was dead, long gone forever and never coming back. I gulp and wince at the thought. I couldn’t bare it. 

Meanwhile, across from me, Blake noses through some debris left behind. Curious, his brows furrowed together and he frowns as he tilts his head to one shoulder, holding the torchlight out in front of him. Then, I follow him into what seems to be the Officer’s Quarters. The bedframes are made out of iron it seems. There’s an arm chair and a desk nearby. In the corner, however, are the remains of what appears to be a cooking area. Lucky. I wish we had something as luxurious as this. The Germans are bloody rich compared to us! There’re some boxes next to the corner which are toppled over and laid abandoned. Next to the beds, I see a tunnel stretching out into the darkness. I wave a hand over my shoulder at Blake, gesturing him to come forth. 

“Here’s our way through,” I whisper. 

I continue to investigate the trench. I hear soft squeaking from behind me. 

“Hey, Scho! Check this out!” Blake whispers with a raised eyebrow and a mischief grin on his face. 

I turn slowly around to face him but only to find him bouncing slightly on a bed. He has a childish grin on his face and blue eyes wide. I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. How does Joe handle him? Blake laughs a little as I roll my eyes. 

But there’s a sudden movement that catches both of our eyes. My eyes widen, ready to pull out my knife from my pocket in case they’re here hiding and ready to ambush us. I’m in a pouncing/fighting stance, my hand gripping on the sheath as I prepare myself to protect Blake. Just as I had promised Leslie I would. Blake yelps and scurries onto the bed, pulling his knees up to his chest. His blue eyes are wide while I step back to avoid the little creature scurrying around on the floor. They’re huge with black fur and a pink tail. Ugh. I hate rats. 

“Bloody hell!” Blake gasps. “Even they’re rats are bigger than ours!” 

By the torchlight, we see as I had expected a bloated black rat scurrying about towards the bags nearby. Blake eyes them hungrily. I move the torch to follow where the rat is heading too. Grease is surrounding the collapsed bags where the rat is and Blake licks his lips. 

“What do you think’s in the bags?” Blake asks hungrily, hovering over my shoulder now. 

I sigh through my nose, rolling my eyes as I turn to glare dead into his hungry eyes. “You cannot be this hungry.” 

Blake opens his mouth to protest, but crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, clamping his mouth shut and turns away from me. I grin a little with triumph and a raised eyebrow underneath my gray metal helmet. 

“Honestly, how does Joe handle you sometimes?” I ask randomly. 

Blake shrugs. “He’s my big brother. Means the world to me. He spoils me too much.” 

I scoff with a short laugh. “Clearly.” 

“Hey!” Blake protests, slapping my back. “It’s not my fault I was adorable!” 

I roll my eyes and chuckle softly, shaking my head side to side. We turn our attention back towards the rat and the bags. Blake scowls, pressing his lips together in a straight line, eyes narrowed at the rat scornfully. 

“Look at him,” Blake grumbles. “Cocky little bastard.” 

“You could eat this, though!” I say, turning my torchlight around to face a bag which reads: “Fleischkonserve.” 

“What is it?” Blake asks, tilting his head to one shoulder as he tries to figure out the meaning of the German word. 

With a smudge look, I say, “Boche dog meat.” 

Blake sticks his tongue out and his nose scrunches up with disgust. He nods towards the other bags. “What’s in the other bags?” 

I go over to the other bags, torchlight in front of me, and I freeze. My eyes widen and my breath hitches and my shoulders are tight and tense. Blake’s eyes widen and his face pales with worry and fear. 

“W-What is it?” Blake asks shakily. 

I gulp and put my hand out to stop him from moving forward. “Tripwire.” 

We’re both frozen now, both eyes are wide with fear and we both seem as though we can hardly breathe. “Don’t,” I hiss shakily through gritted teeth. “Don’t move.” 

“Where is it?” Blake whispers. 

“Goes from here,” I say, using my torchlight to show the thin wire stretching out before us. Blake follows it with his eyes. “To the door…” 

Blake’s breath quickens and his eyes are wider than before, perhaps even bulging out of his skull. I stare at the door blankly yet determined. It’s about ten feet away from us. BAM! Blake yelps and jumps a little startled, spinning around on his heel. I do too, eyes wide and heart pounding against my chest. I narrow my eyes to see the rat is on the floor with the bag in his teeth. I let out a sigh of relief, and so does Blake. 

“God…” he breathes. 

But then, the rat drags the bag towards…no. No, no. 

“No, no!” Blake breathes, inching forward with both hands out in front of him as if to try stop the rat from heading towards the tripwire. 

I don’t remember what happens. All I see is the rat heading towards the tripwire, dropping the bag on to it (the bloody bastard, as Blake would grumble) and fleeing. Bloody bastard! There’s a blinding light before us as we’re suddenly blown back. 

The blast is deafening loud. I couldn’t hear anything. All I hear is this loud ringing noise in my ears. Bricks from the solid walls around us begin to collapse as Blake is thrown back against a wall with a loud thud. 

White chalk swirls around us but bright with Blake’s torchlight that’s now on the floor. I go to reach Blake, but he’s unconscious it looks like. My eyes widen as I glance up but then the world dissolves into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake and Schofield make it out of the German tunnel and arrive at the farmhouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters and plot belong to Sam Mendes. They are not mine.

MY LUNGS SCREAM for air as the pile of bricks crumple upon me. I try to move, to claw the bricks off of me but I couldn’t see where they were. Every bone in my body cracks with each move. Panic begins to rise up. Where’s Blake? Is he here? Is he alive? Is he safe? I can’t lose him. I can’t. Not on my watch. Joe needs him. Leslie needs him. I need to make sure he gets to his brother alive, that he comes back home to his family alive. That’s what I had promised right? So, it’s my duty to make sure he’s safe and alive. Leslie would surely kill me if Blake is dead. I can’t let that happen. 

I begin to scream for him. Calling his name, hoping there’d be a response. A sign that he’s alright and alive. I claw at the bricks but I can’t see. I suppose my vision is blocked with white chalky dust. Great. That’s when I hear him. I let out a mental sigh of relief. He’s alive. 

“Scho?!” I hear Blake scream, but it’s muffled with bricks on top of me. But it’s him and that’s all I care about. 

“Scho!” Blake screams, his voice panicky. His voice cracks as though the might even cry. I don’t blame him if he did. I would too if it were the other way around with Blake being buried underneath all these bricks instead of me. 

I groan in pain and exhaustion. Oh, how sleep would be so lovely right now… 

I hear Blake tossing the bricks aside and I can breathe. I gulp down a huge gulp of air and cough. Blake sighs with relief as he finishes his task. But I remain still with my eyes closed. I couldn’t see him. I think for a minute I might be dead. Am I dead? Is this what death feels like? But then I feel him grab my collar with clenched fists, yanking me up. His voice cracking and I wouldn’t be surprised if he were on the verge of tears. 

“Scho?!” Blake cries, pulling me out of the pile of bricks. “Scho!” 

I feel his hand wipe away the chalk off of my mouth. Blake keeps digging me free. I soon feel the bricks move off of my arms, my chest and with the weight gone off of my chest it’s as though I can breathe again. I feel him grab my uniform collar and pulls me up, grunting as he does so. 

“Scho! Scho! Stand up! Stand up! Stand up!” Blake orders. 

I try too, but my legs shake and they nearly buckle underneath me and I nearly collapsed. I’m trembling with shock. Breathing shakily. 

“STAND UP!” Blake snaps, heaving me up to my feet. 

The walls groan all around us. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m holding onto Blake for dear life, shaking with shock and breathing hard. My knees shake. 

“The whole thing’s coming down!” Blake screams. I can see his eyes bulging out of his skull. I feel him grab my collar tightly and my shoulder, half dragging me and half lifting me up to my feet. I can feel his breath on my chalky face. “You keep hold of me!” 

I feel myself nod sleepily. Oh, how sleep sounds so luxurious right now. Blake drag me forward. I clutch onto his packs for dear life, shaking like a leaf. I hear the walls trembling and groaning as they collapse down behind us. Blake dragging me forward, me following close behind, heart pounding against my chest, panting. 

“We need to keep moving!” Blake orders. “Come on! Come on!” 

“I-I can’t…I can’t see!” I breathe, gasping for air. Panic surging through me. 

I feel him stop and I manage to stop myself from bumping into him. Blake holds his arms out in front of me. I can see in my head his eyes are wide. 

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” Blake says and I do. 

I hear something squeak below us. Blake gasps. 

“Stop!” Blake gasps. “It’s a mineshaft! We have to jump!” 

I hear him grunt and I think he’s rather insane. How am I supposed to leap across a mineshaft when I can’t bloody see?! I remain frozen solid like a statue, panic surging through me again as my heart pounds even harder against my chest. Louder by the second. 

“You need to trust me!” Blake yells. His voice sounds distant. Did he make it to the other side of the mineshaft? He must have. “Jump!” 

"You need to trust me! His voice echoes in my head. I squeeze my eyes tighter than they already were before and I gulp. I steady myself, trying to calm my breathing before crouching down. I make a grunt sound and I feel all the air getting knocked out of my lungs. I feel my feet land on the ground, though they almost slip backwards. I feel Blake’s hands on my arms, gripping them tightly as he pulls me towards him. I made it! I made it to the other end of the shaft! Oh my God! 

We hear the walls rumble around us and the ground shakes. I feel chalky dust in the air and I cough. I think the other end of the mineshaft is blocked now. Blake grabs hold of my sleeve, pushing us forward through the crumpling mineshaft. He screams and grunts with determination. I grip onto him for dear life. 

“Don’t let go of me!” Blake screams. I don’t think I am anytime soon, I think. “Don’t let go!” 

He drags us forward, panting and exhausted. “Light! There’s light!” 

We scramble forward, clutching hold of each other for dear life. We scramble up hastily along a small incline. I stand but then I bent, doubling over as we reach the mouth of the tunnel. I try to catch hold of my breath. I groan. 

“Stop, stop!” I groan. “Let me stand. Just let me stand!” 

“Dirty bastards!” I hear Blake grumble. “Careful, they may have left other traps.” 

We finally make it out of the trench and we both collapse with exhaustion. I lay flat on my back, breathing heavily as I rub the dust out of my eyes with balled fists. I hear Blake panting hard next to me. 

“God,” Blake breathes. 

“Dust,” I moan, rubbing the burning dust out of my eyes. “So much dust in my eyes…” 

I feel myself unscrewing the flask’s cap and pouring the water over my eyes in hopes it’d get the dust out. I pinch the eyes close together, rubbing the dust out of my eyes as I cough. 

“Here, have some of mine,” Blake breathes, handing me his flask. 

I thank him and wash the dust off of my face. I blink, trying to adjust to the sudden light before us. Blake crouches down on one knee next to me, a forearm resting on his thigh as he watches me down his flask in one gulp. My knees are pulled up to my chest as I hand him back his flask. 

“I wish I’d shot that rat now,” Blake mutters out of nowhere. 

I shoot him a hard glare, narrowing my eyes at him with a scowl appearing on my face. “And I wish you picked some other bloody idiot!” 

Blake turns to me, an eyebrow raised and a smirk appearing on his face. “What?” 

“Why in God’s name did you have to choose me?” I snap. 

Blake offendedly says, “I didn’t know what I was picking you for!” 

“No, you didn’t,” I snap, anger rising in my chest. I almost died for God’s sake! “You never know. That’s your problem.” 

Blake looks stung. Hurt. I shouldn’t be too harsh on him. He’s right, of course. He didn’t know what he was picking me for. Sanders didn’t say anything. Just told Blake to pick a man and bring a kit. 

“Alright then,” Blake says, pushing himself up to his feet. His bottom lip trembles a bit. Great. “Go back! Nothing’s stopping you. You can go all the way bloody home if you want!” My heart stops as I stare blankly at the photographs of my sister and nieces in my small tobacco tin. My hands are shaking both from shock and from anger. I growl silently behind barred teeth and flicker my eyes up towards him. 

“Don’t,” I growl, closing the tobacco tin and tucking it safely in my pockets. 

Blake sighs heavily through his nose, lips pursed tightly together in a straight line. He eyes me levelly and calmly. His harsh expression now softening. 

“Look. I didn’t know what I was picking you for. I thought they were going to send us back up the line for you know. Food and supplies. I thought it was going to be something easy. I never thought it would be this!” 

A beat. I don’t meet his eyes. I couldn’t. I stare at my shaky hands in my lap. Blake sighs. 

“So. Do you want to go back?” Blake asks. 

My hard expression softens and I sigh heavily through my nose. I roll my eyes. “Just fire the effing flare!” 

Blake nods and stands up to his feet. He pulls out the flare out of his pocket and sighs through his nose as he examines it. He smiles fondly at it and points the flare upward. Underneath his breath, Blakes with soft eyes, “Up yours, Lieutenant…” 

I wince. Leslie must be worried out of his mind right, despite how cold he was towards me and the others. We watch it light up through the sky and then drop down slowly, making a soft whistle. Blake tosses the flare gun and holds out his hand in front of me, pulling me up to my feet. 

“Do you know where we are?” I ask, scanning the area. 

Blake glances down at the map in his clenched hands that’re scraped with chalky dust. He squints at the small print on the brown paper and I peer over his shoulder curiously, tilting my head to one shoulder. Blake glances up and using his hand over his eyebrows he blocks the suns rays beaming down on us and therefore causing sweat to drip down the side of my face. 

“Ecoust is directly southeast. If we keep that baring, we should make it,” Blake explains confidently. 

I follow Blake’s index finger towards a rolling hill stretching out before us. It rolls down gently past the quarry. A shattered copse of trees juts out of the Earth. It’s charred and black. I turn over to Blake and nod. Blake packs the compass safely in his pocket and raises his rifle. 

“Well. Come on then!” Blake says with a nod of his head forward. 

We begin to walk forward. I move ahead in front of Blake, rifle ready to shoot and without hesitation. Blake’s safety is my priority right now. Leslie’s counting on me. Joe’s counting on me. I can’t let them down. Blake stays close behind me where I can see him just out of the corner of my eye. The rifle also aimed and ready to shoot if necessary. Up ahead, we see blankets of ammunition, guns, bayonets, and shells. My eyes widen at their supplies. We past the remains of the artillery. The gun barrels have been blown out. General Erinmore was right for one thing. Artillery we have never seen before. 

Blake’s eyes widen as he scans the area slowly. “Look at that…! They destroyed their own guns!” 

“They destroyed their own trenches too,” I say. 

Blake arches an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

I shrug. “I think they wanted us to go that way. They wanted to bury us.” 

A beat. Blake stares at me as though I have just grown two heads. His face paler than the chalk that’s still covering some of his cheeks. He presses his lips into a fine line and gulps. He blinks. Blink, blink. I smirk a little and shrug. We continue walking. A ruffle is heard behind us. Blake yelps and spins around on his heel, bayonet ready to shoot. My own rifle aimed down at the…rat. A rat. It crawls over a dead German corpse. Blake grumbles something unintelligible underneath his breath. He kicks at the rat with a rock and it scatters, squeaking endlessly. Blake scowls at the rodent. 

“Blasted rats!” Blake growls. 

Blake gulps, realizing what he said, and he turns to me. I glower at the rat as it scurries across the field. My eyes narrow. I’m still trembling slightly from the aftershock. We continue on, rifles in hand and armed. We don’t talk about anything. Not for a long while which I don’t mind at all. I enjoy the silence. Helps me clear my head. We push past through the pushes and tress. Our feet crunching on top of the grass below us. 

“Hey, Scho? Did I ever tell you the story about Wilko? About how he lost his ear?” Blake asks randomly. 

I turn to him, cocking an eyebrow at me and a small grin appearing on his face as he nudges my side with his elbow. I force a small smile and chuckle. He’s the only one who can make me laugh. But I frown, keeping my face calm and serious. Don’t get me wrong, I love his stories. They’re quite entertaining. Mostly about him and Joe before the war, back to when things were normal and when Joe and Leslie left him alone at such a young age and about his dog, Myrtle, and his mother’s cherry orchard in the backyard back home in Essex. That’s where he’s from, anyways. 

“I’m not in the mood,” I sigh. I keep trudging forward. “Keep your eyes on the trees, top of the ridge.” 

Blake keeps his eyes on top of the trees like I instructed him too. Silence. Ah, the peace and quiet. 

“Bet he told you it was shrapnel!” Blake says, nudging me in the ribs again. 

I sigh heavily through my nose and roll my eyes. “What was it then?” 

“Well, you know how his girl’s a hairdresser, right? And he was moaning about the lack of bathing facilities when he wrote to her. Remember those rancid jakes at Arras?” Blake asks. 

I nod. Oh, yeah. Of course, I do. How could anyone forget about those! They were disgusting! 

“Anyways. She sends him over this ‘hair oil’,” Blake continues. He uses air quotes around the words “Hair oil.” “Smells sweet, like Golden Syrup. Wilko loves the smell, but he doesn’t want to cart it around in his pack. So…” 

Blake’s voice dies out as we carefully tread over the battered Earth below us. It’s littered with casings and flecks of metal. But his voice slowly becomes louder as he catches up to me with a stupid, childish grin on his face. 

“He slathers it all over his barnet,” Blake continues. “Goes to sleep and in the middle of the night, he wakes up and a rat is sitting on his shoulder licking the oil off his head!” 

I couldn’t help myself. I let out a soft chuckle, a small smile creeping up on my face. I feel the corners of my lip turn upward. Blake beams with triumph and smirks, his blue eyes twinkling. 

“Wilko panics and he jumps up and when he does, the rat bites clean right through his effing ear and runs off with it!” Blake finishes, doubling over with laughter. It’s a joyous sound from him, peaceful to me. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane really. Blake slaps my shoulder, laughing quietly. “Oh. He made a hell of a fuss, yelling and screaming…” The ground now sweeps gently downward out of the burnt copse. We’re now back in the living. Breathing in the warm April breeze. The beginning of Spring. It smells like cherries out here. 

“Best of it,” Blake continues with a mischievous grin as he nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. Again. “Was that he put so much bloody oil on himself that he couldn’t wash it off! He was like…like a magnet! Rats left us alone, but they couldn’t get enough of him.” He tsked and shake his head disappointingly, whistling softly. “Poor bastard.” We now emerge from the corpse, bayonets in clutched hands in front of our chests. We slowly pull to a stop and scan our surroundings. We appear to be alone. Hence, key word: “Appear.” You may never know. 

Above us, far in the distance, we see two British planes seem to hover in the sky, arcing back towards British lines. Huh. I cock my head to one shoulder, brows furrowed together with suspicion as I watch them race back to the British lines. Blake also tilts his head, confused as well yet also curious. 

“Heading back home,” I whisper. Then, a sudden pause. “Wonder what they saw…” 

I pull my eyes briefly away from the planes. We continue to briefly scan the area around us. 

Blake nods at me, his face contorted with seriousness. “Watch the ridge lines…” 

I nod and we continue walking quietly and slowly. None of us dares to speak. I don’t ever recall taking in a breath. Blake turns to the left, gripping his bayonet tightly in his hands, his gray metal helmet tilted down over the bridge of his nose as I take the right. 

“Well, that’s your metal sorted then,” I say after a moment of awkward and tense silence between us. 

Blake frowns, turning to face me with confusion. He tilts his head to one shoulder. “What do you mean?” 

We continue walking as I explain, my eyes trained on the right side of us. 

“Lance Corporal Blake showed unusual valor in rescuing a comrade from certain death,’ blah, blah, blah,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. 

Blake chuckles softly. “You reckon?” 

I grin and give him a curt nod. “I do.” 

“Joe would be proud,” he sighs and then frowns at the mention of his brother and frowns even deeper when he mentions Leslie. “And Leslie. Though, Les would probably just grunt and say ‘Well done, kid.’” 

Curious, I say, “So, how long have you known Leslie?” 

“A long time,” Blake sighs, kicking a loose rock with his toe. “Before the war, even. Before he and Joe were drafted and eventually me. I was five I think when I met him. Leslie was new to Essex, then. Joe was meandering down the sidewalk picking up some groceries for us for dinner when they bumped into each other on the street. Well, that’s a love story right there. It was meant as a joke, don’t take it literally. Anyways, Leslie told Joe that he was on his own, no family. No wife, no children, not even a girlfriend. His parents were dead and he was an only child in his family. No siblings whatsoever. Lucky bastard. Any who, Joe invited Leslie over for dinner and he was meant to stay for a couple of nights and I think they fell in love over time, don’t tell Joe I said that. He’d kill me for telling you. And plus, Leslie was too attached to me. I was already beginning to view him as a father, despite his cold nature. So, here we are. Father and son fighting for their lives in the war. And with Joe being over there…God knows what Leslie’s thinking right now.” 

I nod. “You never told me this…” 

“Well, you never asked, Scho!” Blake laughs. 

“I never knew Leslie was like a father to you,” I mutter. 

“A protective one at that. Sorry if he intimidated you, Scho. As I said, he’s quite protective of me.” 

“No, I understand,” I say honestly. “I would too if I were in his shoes.” 

Blake nods as we continue walking quietly and stealthily. 

“Well, the medal thing would be nice,” Blake says suddenly pleased. “Since you’ve lost yours.” 

A beat. I sigh heavily. Now, I didn’t tell him the whole truth when I told him I lost my medal. 

“I didn’t lose it,” I confess. 

“What happened to it then?” wonders Blake. 

I shoot him a glare, narrowing my eyes at him. “Why do you care?” 

I didn’t mean for it come out so harsh. It’s not my fault he’s a curious one. Probably in the Blake’s blood and genes. 

Blake shrugs. “Why do you not?” 

I sigh heavily, rolling my eyes. I sigh again through my nose, shaking my head frustratingly. 

“I swapped it with a French captain,” I say. 

Blake’s eyes widen. “Swapped it? What for?” 

I shrug. “A bottle of wine.” 

Blake stares at me as though I was some exotic animal. He snickers. 

“Why’d you do that for?!” he hisses. 

I shrug. “Was thirsty.” 

“What a waste!” he whistles with a disappointed shake of his head. “You should’ve taken it home with you! Home with your family!” 

I wince at the mention of my family. I let out a shaky breath, but soon calmed down as I feel the cool metal of the tobacco tin safe in my pocket. 

“Men have died for that,” Blake says. 

I sigh through my mouth. He’s right. Again. Men have died for that. 

“If I’d gotten a metal,” Blake says. Oh, boy. Here we go again. “I’d take it home. Why didn’t you just take it back home—” 

I spin around on my heel, glaring hard at him. A stern scowl appearing on my face. Blake’s face turns pale, white as dust. He gulps and whimpers, flinching as I suddenly snap at him. He shrinks down a little. 

“Look, it’s just a bloody piece of tin!” I snap, my voice rising with anger a little. But then, I wince myself, lowering it back down again. “It doesn’t make you special! It doesn’t make difference to anyone!” 

Blake sighs and straightens himself up once he thinks I’ve cooled off. “Yes. It does. And it’s not just a bit of tin! It’s got ribbon on it!” 

I roll my eyes, shaking my head as I let out a soft laugh. I turn to Blake, narrowing my eyes at him. Blake tilts his head, curious. Brows furrowed together slightly underneath the tip of his gray metal helmet. Lips pressed together in a straight line. I sigh heavily. I have no choice but to talk about home. He’s wanting me too. I can see it with that twinkle in his eyes. 

I sigh heavily. “I hated going home. I hated it. When I knew I had to stay…when I knew I had to leave them, and they may never see me again…” 

My voice cracks and I grimace. I let out a shaky breath and turn my attention forward. I stand frozen still, fighting the tears that were threatening to come pouring down my cheeks like waterfalls. I let out another shaky breath before continuing walking on ahead with my bayonet clutched tightly in my hand. I clutch it so hard my knuckles turn white. Blake stands a few feet from me, his expression softening and he sighs through his nose. After a few moments of silent hesitation, he sighs again and follows me. Up ahead, I approach the remains of a wall of orchards. I stop at the gate, waiting for Blake to catch up. I scan the area slowly. The near wall is partially collapsed in a mound of rubble. Beyond it, cherry trees litter all over the ground. My eyes widen at the sight, jaw slackened a little in awe. All of the trees have been cut down, felled in a destruction of a German retreat. Pale pink blossoms blows softly with the breeze, all littered on the ground beneath my boots. 

“My God…they chopped them all down!” I breathed with shock. 

I hear Blake’s soft footsteps crunching on the grass. At the corner of my eyes, I see he has a guilty expression on his face. He knew he hurt me. I know he doesn’t mean it. I know he couldn’t help himself. He was just curious! I can’t blame him for that! I need to control my temper sometimes. Blake opens his mouth as he slowly approaches me, wanting to apologize I assume, but he clamps it shut and a fond smile appears on his face when he notices the cherries around us. 

He touches a blossom in his palm, memories of his childhood replay in his mind as the fond smile widens further. He chuckles, shaking his head. “Cherries…” He frowns now, examining the blossom closely. He smiles fondly again. “Lamberts…” He then takes a swift look around as he moves forward. Blake’s brows furrows together and his forehead creases as he rethinks his answer. He shrugs. “They might be Dukes. Hard to tell when they aren’t in fruit.” 

“What’s the difference?” I ask, my temper slowly calming down. 

Blake glances at me over his shoulder with a small smile on his face. “Well. People think there’s one type. But there’s lots of them. Cuthberts, Queen Anne’s, Montmorencys. Sweet ones, sour ones…” 

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head with disbelief. “Why on Earth would you know this?” 

Blake grins. “Mum’s got a cherry orchard back home. Only a few trees, though. This time of year, it looks like it’s been snowing! Blossoms everywhere! Ugh. So beautiful. You’d love it, Scho. And then, in May, we’d have to pick them. Joe, Leslie, and I. Takes the whole bloody day.” 

Blake suddenly stops as he sighs through his nose, holding a loose blossom in his palm with a small smile creeping on his face. I smile a little too, tilting my head as I watch him curiously. I know that soft look on his face. It’s homesickness. 

“So,” I whistle, trying to change the subject as I glance around the trees laying before us. “These are all goners?” 

Blake blinks out of his daze, shaking his head side to side as he glances at me over his shoulder. “Oh, no. They’ll grow again when the stones rot. You’ll end up with more trees than before!” 

A large wall borders the lower end of the orchard but it’s still intact. I arrive at the gate, clutching the bayonet closely. Ahead of us, visible through the gate, is a small valley. In the valley, lies the remains of a French farmhouse. It appears abandoned. But you could never be sure. There could be a homeless person hiding in there for all I know. The farmhouse is utterly derelict now, though. The roof is just a skeleton of beams! Next to it, however, is a crippled barn. It’s ragged with shell holes. Blake and I peer through the gate curiously and suspiciously. Everything is still. Quiet. Eerily quiet. Peaceful. Not even a bird crows. I narrow my eyes and press my lips together in a taut line as I stare anxiously at the farmhouse. Something feels off. I don’t know what it is but I think I have a bad feeling about this. About the farmhouse. 

“It looks abandoned,” Blake says, narrowing his eyes a little. 

“Let’s hope so,” I sigh. 

“We have to make sure,” Blake says sternly. 

I take the lead. I move through the gate cautiously with my rifle raised. Blake follows close behind me. 

We slip down the hill. We’re in the old abandoned pigsty. Ugh. It sticks in here. Well, it is a bloody pigsty for God’s sake. What did you expect? The pigsty around us is surrounded by a broken fence which runs to a murky pond in the distance. Carefully, as I walk, I scan the building ahead. The wind ruffles through the grass and I suddenly feel a shiver down my spine. I let out a soft shudder. Is it just me or did it get ridiculously cold for some reason? I glance over at Blake. 

“I’ll take the front,” I say, “and you take the back.” 

Blake nods curtly before splitting up from me. I watch Blake disappear behind the back while I move towards the front door. I approach the front, and suddenly gag and quickly glance away from the dead dog which lies in the middle of my path. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling myself together, before I clench my rifle tightly. I stare blankly at the front door, bracing myself for what may be hiding inside. I inhale deeply, holding it for four, before exhaling slowly and silently through my nose for a count of four. 

I push open the door and it creaks. I gasp sharply and flinch, bracing myself for whatever lies ahead of me. I’m there for a moment, standing frozen solid as I scan the area. My ears perk up as I listen for any sound of life. But there’s nothing inside. All I hear is the wind whistling through my ears and Blake’s footsteps around the back. I take a deep breath in before entering. The only sounds I hear are the floorboards creaking underneath my boots. I can tell some soldiers had stayed here for a while before they abandoned the place. If they had abandoned it. There could be some in hiding, waiting to ambush us and attack us this very moment. I make a right and instantly walk into a bedroom. 

There’s nothing in here. Not even a bed. I move towards the hallway where I spot Blake peering at me in the window. 

“Anything?” he asks. 

I shake my head. “Nothing.” 

I move towards the kitchen, now. But I freeze when I see that something’s caught my eye. Curious, I slowly spin around on my heel to face a child’s toy doll laying on the floorboards. There are cigarette burns in its eyes as it stares creepily at me. I lock eyes with it, probably a bad idea. I stare at it for a good while, thinking that if I take one step forward, the eyes will blink or follow me around. I know, I know. I’m being irrational and paranoid. It’s just a doll. With its burnt eyes staring blankly at me as though I’m being watched. I shiver. 

Finally gathering my courage, I take a deep breath before heading into the kitchen. Low, dusty light streaks through the dusty windowpanes. Blake enters through the back door. Hunger in his eyes. 

“Did you find any food?!” he asks in a hushed voice. 

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. He could not be this hungry right now! I swear, is all he thinks about is food? How much does Joe spoil him? Instead, I say, “No.” 

A pause as we both stand close, scanning the area quietly and suspiciously. I press my lips together as I shake my head, turning to face Blake. 

“I don’t like this place,” I say. 

I move through the back door. I move across the barren yard to a dilapidated barn. Remnants and debris are scattered around. I suddenly hear a low cow moo in the distance, far from the fields beyond. I look to find a single cow which stands in the middle of the field. Two or three more cows lay dead near it. I gulp thickly. I turn and scan the barn floor. I peer curiously into the milk urn. It’s empty. 

Close by, though, I notice there’s a bucket lying around. I kick the lid off of it with my toe and it clatters to the ground. I wince at the loud commotion it made. But the lid soon relaxed and fell still. My eyes widen and I grin a little at the contents inside the bucket. It’s milk. I crouch down next to the bucket and scoop some up with my uninjured palm and slurps some from my palm. Mmm. The cool milk cools down my burning throat. I hadn’t realized I was this dehydrated since Blake and I escaped the tumbling mineshaft. 

“Map’s says we get over this ridge and it’s a straight shot to Ecoust,” says Blake as he approaches me from behind the farmhouse. 

I nod understandingly at him. “Good.” 

I take my empty flask from my belt and I pour the milk carefully inside it. I fill it all the way to the brim. Behind me, the huge door to the barn is wide open to the fields. I hear the soft drones of a plane engines through the doorway which catch my attention. I tilt my head to one shoulder as I spot the planes through the barn door, entranced. I move slowly towards them to get a better look, intrigued. I move outside to watch. 

I wander about outside in the open fields with my rifle clutched close to my chest. I look up at the cloudy sky above me and use my hand to block out the sunrays shining through the gray clouds. It’s a dogfight. There are three planes up ahead. They look tiny from where I’m standing. My eyes follow them keenly. I cock my head to one shoulder again, brows furrowing together with my forehead creased in thought. There’re two British planes, I notice them instantly. Against one German. Two against one. The violence from afar looks almost balletic, beautiful even. Like the planes are slow dancing almost in a circular motion. I step even closer to get a better look. The planes twist and circle in the air, engines are droning as they dip and rise, dip and rise. 

“Is that our friends again?” Blake asks, tilting his own head to one shoulder. 

I nod, confirming it. “Looks like it. Dogfight.” 

“Who’s winning?” Blake wonders. 

“Us, I think,” I say. And it does look like we’re winning. "Two on one." 

We stand side by side together in the middle of the broken fence, in complete awe of the beauty of it. Then, suddenly, the German plane begins to trail black smoke. I grin a little and so does Blake. We got him. 

The German plane’s engines hums die down as I realize the engine is beginning to fail. The two British planes begin to follow it, hammering away with their guns until it’s clear there’s no hope for the Germans. Blake scoffs and nudges me in the ribs with his elbow. Again. 

“They got him…!” Blake breathes. 

The German plane coasts slightly to the Earth. We’re hypnotized, Blake and I, by the smooth way the plane coasts towards the Earth we hardly move. Jaws dropped slightly, eyes narrowed with curiosity. The pilot, though, is having horrible luck with guiding his plane. It sways side to side as he tries to regain control of his plane. No luck. It’s quite beautiful from a distance if I do say so myself. 

Then, falling like a leaf, the plane begins to plummet down to the Earth, trying to regain its bearings. Only to dip again. I think it’s trying to aim for the fields past us. I mean, that’s what it looks like anyways. 

The plane dips and it wobbles as it fights its way to stay upright. It banks to the left and then drops below the horizon. 

I walk forward a little to have a better look. I tilt my head to one side but then back away, eyes wide as I desperately try to helplessly protect Blake by pushing myself in front of him as we scatter backwards. 

Above the horizon, I see the plane’s nose as it heads straight towards us.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blake and Schofield try to save the pilot and Schofield meets the Convoy boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all characters and plot do not belong to me. They all belong to Sam Mendes.

I SMELL SMOKE coming from behind us as Blake and I dodge the plane by collapsing onto the ground and protecting our heads with our forearms. Like that’s going to do anything. But it was instinct. I hear a banging crash. It must have been the plane, it has to be. It probably had crashed into the barn and now the barn is burning, bright orange flames erupting from the Earth. And that’s where I smell the smoke. 

To confirm my suspicions, I glance over my shoulder for a split second and sure enough I was correct. The barn erupts into beautiful bright orange flames, smoking coming from the ground. I see the plane a few feet in behind us, also being erupted with bright orange flames. That’s when I hear someone screaming, crying out for help. 

I think this is what Buchanan met when he said Blake was brave yet stupid. Blake pushes himself up with a small grunt and quickly dusts off his pants. He dashes towards the burning plane, eyes wide with panic and fear. I tail closely behind him, my hand gripping on a pistol in case I have to shoot the person in order to protect Blake. My face pales when I reach the left side of the plane, Blake is on the right. I glance down to see the pilot thrashing and failing to unbuckle his seatbelt. He’s burning. He’s literally on fire. He screams loudly, in German, begging us for help. Blake and I grab one of his arms and struggle a bit to yank him free. Defeated, we release the man from our grips for a moment. I glance down to see he’s burning from his legs and torso. The pilot moans in agony as he buries his face with his gloved hands. Blake grabs at the man, the back of his hand touching the yoke as he tries desperately to free the pilot. The poor pilot screams in agony as the metal sears his skin. I tear open the pilot’s strap and together with both hands gripping on one of the pilot’s arms, we drag him out of the burning plane. We pull his body through the smoke, and dragging him away from the remains of the cockpit. That’s when I see the pilot’s legs on fire as we laid him down on the ground. 

“Mien bien!” the German pilot screams, clawing at our wrists as we drag him towards the fields. “Mien bien! Hilf mir! Hilf mir!” 

Help me…help me… 

We now continue to drag the pilot by his shoulders. The true extent of his injuries lay bare in the daylight. The flames have done some bad damage to him. Poor bastard, as Blake would say. His trousers have been partially burnt off and crimson read blood oozes out of his punctured wounds and streaks down his legs like a waterfall. The pilot’s blue eyes dart between Blake and I, quivering with shock. His lips slowly begin to move as he tries to form words or sentences but they merely come out as a hushed whisper. 

“Lazarette, kamerad. Bitte. Bitte. Wasser. Water,” the German pilot rambles breathlessly as we drag him along the field. 

We stare down at the pilot stupidly as we lay him across the field. We glance at each other, shocked, and unsure of what to do. I know what to do. I have too if I want to protect him. I need to protect him. I turn to Blake. 

“We should put him out of his misery,” I whisper to him. 

Blake stares at the man, his shocked expression softening. Blake shakes his head, lips pressed together. 

“No. Get him some water. He needs water,” Blake orders. 

I gulp, hesitating. I glance from the injured pilot to Blake. I can’t let Blake out of my sight. Joe needs him. Joe’s life depends on us right now. If something happened to Blake, Leslie would surely kill me on the spot. I made a promise. I’m not going to break it. But those eyes. Those blue puppy dog eyes. He narrows them at me expectantly, shooing me away with his hand. He doesn’t understand. I’m right, not him. I should put that pilot out of his misery right now. But no. Blake has ordered me to do something. So, what do I do? I do it. 

I sigh heavily through my nose, keeping my eyes on the German pilot as I head over to the water pump nearby. Blake is already kneeling down next to the pilot, coaxing him to calm down. 

Is he stupid? Blake cradles the pilot’s head into his lap and whispers something that I can barley hear as he tries to calm the pilot down. The pilot struggles, terrified and in pain. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Blake whispers. “Shh. You’re alright. Stay still…that’s it…shh…stay still.” 

I crouch down next to the pump and I work the leaver rather quickly as I try to bring it back to life. I hear the man pleading with Blake as he tries to calm the poor man down. “Bitte tote mich nict. Ich mote leben!” the German pilot wails. 

Creak. Creak. The pump slowly creaks back to life. Come on, come on, I think as I pump the lever. 

Finally. Orange water slowly cascades down the pump and into the bucket. 

That’s when I hear him. 

“Stop…! Stop…!” Blake screams, backing up slowly. 

I freeze, eyes wide and forward, breath pulled in tight and shoulders tensed. No this couldn’t be happening. I take a deep breath in and slowly turn around. My eyes widen even further, heart pounding anxiously against my chest. Stomach churning and I feel the urge to throw up. I drop the bucket. 

Blake screams. He screams in agony and it hurts me. It aches me. No. No, no, no. Not him. 

There’s a knife in the German pilot’s hand. A silver knife gleaming in the daylight. It’s coated with crimson red blood. My eyes widen and I drop the bucket completely, grabbing my rifle beside me. 

“No! No! No!” I scream, aiming the rifle at the pilot. 

BANG! BANG! Two shots ring out. The pilot topples over like a sheet of papers being knocked over a desk and collapses onto the ground. Dead on the spot. I drop my rifle and with all my life, running towards Blake. 

Blake sits on his knees frozen solid, shocked. He stares down at his own bloodied hands and scowls, glaring at the dead German pilot. 

“Bastard!” Blake screams, tears slowly beginning to swarm in his eyes. He glares harder at the pilot. “Bloody bastard!” 

I blink my own tears away as I try to remain calm as I approach him. Blake pushes himself up, grimacing as he breathes heavily. He clutches his abdomen and his eyes widen, facing paling by the second. Getting whiter by the second. He staggers back from the dead pilot, shaking his head. 

“Oh God…” Blake whimpers, eyes wide as the realization dawns upon him. “No, oh God no!” 

I stand still, shocked and scared. I’m shaking and my eyes are wide. No. This can’t be happening! This is a dream! A nightmare! I’ll wake up any second now, screaming and Blake would be right next to me and soothing me with my head cradled in his lap, his soft fingers stroking my sweaty bangs out of my tear-filled eyes and whispering soft and hushed words to me as my eyes began to flutter back to sleep. Perhaps, he may even sing a song. I hear him singing to himself doing daily chores around the trenches. A lullaby, I think is what he told me. A lullaby Joe would used to sing to him when he was a baby to lull him back to sleep. I wince at the thought of Joe, Blake’s older brother. God, what about Leslie?! 

I watch stupidly as Blake goes to his dressings, tears beginning to swarm in his eyes. He clumsily pulls them out of his pocket but they unspool from his hands, clattering to the ground. Blake curses underneath his breath. Breathing hard. Blood seeps through his tunic. His knees buckle beneath him and he begins to sob. My heart wrenches at the sight. At how fragile Blake is right now. How scared he is. Blake glances down at his own blood seeping through his tunic slowly. He shakes his head, shocked, eyes wide. 

“No…God no…” he pants, touching his wound with his fingers. Red drips from the tips of them, making me sick. 

I snap out of my daze and force my feet to move forward. I bend down to pick the dressing up in my own hands but that’s when he topples to the ground with a thud. I wince, gathering myself together. 

“We have to stop the bleeding,” I say, my voice thick with guilt. How could I be so stupid? I should have just ignored Blake’s orders and killed the pilot right on the spot like I suggested! Oh, Leslie’s going to kill me. 

I begin to wad the dressing and carefully remove Blake’s hand. I push the white bandage hard against Blake’s tunic, trying to slow the bleeding down. Blake clutches my wrists and screams. I wince, letting out a shaky breath. Keep it together, Schofield. Panic won’t help. Be calm. Breathe. 

Blake begins to claw at my wrists, screaming and whimpering. My heart aches as it shatters down from my lungs all the way to the pit of my stomach. 

“Stop it!” Blake gasps as he tries to sit up, eyes wide. “Stop it!” 

I shush him, trying to clam him. 

“Shh,” I whisper, stroking his sweaty dark brown curls like he would do to me whenever I had a nightmare back during our times in the trenches together. My other hand pressing the bandage to the wound, hoping it’ll stop the bleeding. “It’s going to be alright. I promise. We’re going to stand up.” 

Blake stares at me like I’m a bloody idiot. I might as well be. But he nods deliriously now. 

“Yes…” Blake breathes, nodding tiredly. He gulps. “Yes.” 

I nod, wrapping my arms underneath his armpits as he plants his feet firmly to the ground. That’s it, I think. That’s it. I heave him upright to his feet but Blake screams in pure agony, tears rolling down his face. Blake shakes his head vigourously, panting as his feet begins to slide beneath him. 

“No! No, I can’t! I can’t!” Blake whimpers, burying his face against my chest. 

We drop back down to the ground, defeated. I glance down at Blake below me and I want to punch myself. He’s pale, white as the clouds above us. His life slowly draining out of him. I gulp when I stare at his lips. They’ve already turned gray. 

“We have to get to an aid post!” I say, panicking. 

Blake shakes his head, panting slowly. “I can’t…” 

I nod, determined. “I’ll carry you. It isn’t that very far…” 

“Just bring a doctor here!” Blake moans, resting his cheek on my chest. 

I wish it was that easy, kid. I really do, I think. I glance over my shoulder, looking around to see if there’s someone nearby cautiously. There isn’t. I sigh heavily and turn back to Blake. 

We’re alone. 

“We can’t,” I mutter, shaking my head. “We have to move together—” 

I stare deep into Blake’s eyes with desperation. Blake shakes his head stubbornly. 

“We’re going to get up,” I order. “We’re going to get up.” 

My breath is shaky, my whole body is trembling. I move behind Blake, who moans with agony as he squeezes his eyes to brace himself. I crouch down behind Blake and slip my arms around his torso and under his armpits. I slowly lift Blake up which was an immediate regret. I wince when Blake begins to scream again, struggling to stand up on his own weight. He can’t. His knees buckle beneath him as painful tears roll down his pale cheeks. He shakes his head furiously, clawing at my forearms. 

“Stop!” Blake screams. “Please! Stop!” 

I ignore him, though. I continue to drag him, grunting here and there. Blake continues to struggle, squeezing his eyes shut as he screams for me to stop but I continue to drag him across the field. His feet kicks out against the dirt beneath us. More blood oozes out of his wound and I grimace. 

He’s wild now. He continues to scream like an animal. He claws desperately at my chest and my neck as he begs me to put him down. He even spits crimson red blood. Blake thrashes around, trying to pry my hands off of him. I struggle to keep myself together, to keep myself calm as possible and to keep myself not from breaking down in front of him. I can’t lose him. I can’t. 

“Put me down!” Blake howls. “Put me down, you bastard! Please! PUT ME DOWN!” 

I wince as we both collapse onto the ground below us, breathless and panting. I turn to face Blake, desperation and fear shining in my eyes. My eyes widen as I see how colorless Blake’s face is now. Pale as snow. I gulp thickly, letting out a shaky breath. I glance down to find his dressing seeping with blood. It’s fresh too. Wet and deep red. Haunting me. I swap it for one of my own fresh dressing. Panic surges through me. 

“We have to try to keep moving!” I encourage him but I know he’s weakening. He can’t even stand on his own feet. 

Blake shakes his head stubbornly, panting. “Let’s just…let’s just…let’s just sit…let’s just sit…” 

I shake my head. “We can’t. We have to find the 2nd! Remember? Your brother! We have to go now!” 

I peer down into his deep blue eyes. I shake my head. No. He’s already lucid now. His beautiful deep blue eyes have already begun to glaze. “You go on without me…” he grunts, wincing a little. “I-I’ll catch up…” 

My heart pounds anxiously against my chest. “You can’t stay here. We have to move, alright? We have to move!” 

I wait for his response. Nothing. He stares up at me like I have two heads. I lick my chapped lips and I gulp anxiously. 

“Come on,” I encourage as I wrap one arm behind his back, the other underneath his legs. “Come on. That’s it. That’s it! Come on!” 

I get to my feet and with all my might and strength I heave him up off the ground with him in my arms. I grit my teeth as I haul him upward in my arms. Blake howls with pain. I scream through gritted teeth with all the effort and strength I have left. I’m so tired. So, so tired. Since when was the last time I slept? But I can’t lift him. Blake is deadweight. We drop to the ground together. I peer down at him desperately. I blink away the tears threatening to pool down my cheeks like waterfalls. This can’t be happening. “Your brother! We have to find your brother!” I remind him, my voice cracking. 

I cradle him in my lap, one arm supporting his head while the other pressing the dressing against his wound in hopes it would stop the bleeding. Blake’s breathes now come in short bursts and he smiles weakly at the mention of his older brother. 

“You’ll recognize him…” Blake grunts. “He looks like me…a bit older…” 

I nod. I stroke his dark brown curls out of his glazed eyes to soothe and calm him as I glance over my shoulder and around me impotently for help. There’s no one. Of course. Behind us, though, the barn is engulfed with flames. It’s beginning to crumple in on itself. The scarlet embers begin to drift off with the breeze. Blake looks up at them curiously. He turns to me. 

“What are they?” he cracks, breathless. “Are we being shelled?” 

I bite my lower lip to keep myself from breaking down. I shake my head. 

“They’re embers,” I whimper. “The barn is on fire…” 

He looks bewildered. Then, pain seers through his eyes as he realizes something. 

“I’ve been hit?” Blake asks. “What was it?” 

I glance down at him, unsure how to answer. I chew on my lip and then I sigh heavily. There’s no point in lying to him. 

I gulp thickly and let out a shaky breath. "Y-You were stabbed…” 

He looks rather surprised. With his trembling hand, he numbly feels the wound. But instead it lands on mine. Heat surges through my cheeks and my eyes widen a little. I don’t think it’s from the heat. I press harder against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. 

Blake’s breathing becomes more labored now as he asks fearfully, his voice cracking, “Am I dying?” 

I squeeze my eyes, pressing my lips tightly together as I feel the tears finally escaping me. No. I want to say. No, you’re not dying. I won’t let you. I won’t. 

But instead, I reopen my eyes and glance down at him and shakily, I whimper, “Yes. I think you are.” 

It pains me to even confess that. Blake forms a breathless “Oh” on his gray lips. But then tears swarm in his glassy blue eyes as he begins to realize it. Profound sadness followed by the aftershock. I continue to stroke his hair soothingly out of his glassy tear-filled eyes. I continue to shush him, soothing him as he would to me if I had a nightmare back in the trenches. 

Blake’s free hand reaches up slowly and he grunts, pointing to his breast pocket with his forefinger, tapping it repeatedly. I tilt my head curiously to one side. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. He’s trying to reach something. I unbutton is pocket for him with my free hand and pull out his wallet. 

turn to face him for confirmation. “This?” 

I open the cover and fumble out for a small photograph of his family. His mother on the right side, Joe on the left. He’s right. Joe does look like him. Only a little taller and older. But to my surprise, there’s no Leslie. This must have been taken before Joe met him. 

Blake nods, breathing shortly. I had the picture to him and he smiles fondly as he presses the photograph to his chest. He lolls his head to my shoulder and stares up at me. I couldn’t bare to look into his glassy blue eyes. 

“Will you write to my Mum for me?” Blake whimpers. 

I nod, gulping. “I will.” 

“Tell her…I wasn’t scared,” Blake breathes. 

I try to contain my emotions. I couldn’t cry now. I had to be strong. For him. I had to remain calm in order to keep him calm. I nod shakily. There’s a long pause as Blake snuggles close to me. I sigh heavily and let go of Blake’s wound. There’s no point. Blake fumbles for my hand. I reluctantly let go and squeezes it, intertwining my bloodied fingers with his bloodied fingers. I stroke his knuckles soothingly with the pad of my thumb. Blake begins to sniffle. 

I sigh through my nose. “Anything else?” 

Blake gulps dryly. He’s slipping away slowly. He realizes this because tears roll freely down his cheeks. He squeezes my hand tightly, knowing this hurts me as much as it hurts him. 

“I love them…” Blake whimpers and I wince, “and I wish…I wish…” 

I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel tears dripping down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. My lips begin to wobble and I feel his hand squeezing mine, trying to comfort me. 

“Talk to me,” Blake demands after a moment of silence. 

I open my eyes, which is blurred due to the tears swimming around in my eyes, and I glance down at him unsure of what to say. 

“Tell me you know the way…” Blake whimpers, squeezing my hand again. 

I nod and I let out a shaky breath. “I know the way. I’m going to head southeast until I hit Ecoust. I’ll pass through the town and out to the east all the way to Corisilles Woods.” 

Faintly, Blake says, “It’ll be dark by then…” 

I shake my head, determined. “That won’t bother me.” I gulp down the tears down my esophagus. “I’ll find the 2nd. I’ll give them the message and then I’ll go find your brother. Just like you…a little older…” 

I stop short. Shakily, I glance down at Blake. I blink rapidly the tears away and let out a sharp gasp. He’s gone. He’s stopped breathing. I gulp and glance away from his closed eyes and over my shoulder. I broke down for just a moment, squeezing my eyes shut. This can’t be real. This has to be a nightmare. I’m back in that meadow, lying against the tree and using my packs as pillows to support me. Blake across from me, alive and breathing. Gray metal helmet tilted down over the bridge of his nose and he also uses his packs as a pillow. I’ll wake up screaming from this nightmare. Blake would jolt awake from across from me and wrapped his arms around me protectively as he comforts me, shushing me and telling me one of his childhood stories to help me lull back to sleep. Or perhaps he may even begin to sing softly, a lullaby he said that Joe used to sing to him as a baby. I turn back to Blake. This isn’t a dream. This is very much real. Without the pain and all the agony he suffered before his death, Blake surprisingly looks very young. I gulp and my heart shatters. God. He’s so young. So young. He had a life ahead of him! God, why I had I been so stupid?! I’m such a bloody idiot! I should have shot that stupid pilot right away like I said! Otherwise, Blake would be alive right now! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! 

I want to scream. I want to scream and curse so much my throat goes raw and I can barley speak. I want to punch someone or something, preferably a someone. I want shoot something. I let his head drop lightly onto my lap. The barn behind me collapses with the flames slowly erupting to the sky. That’s when I snap out of my daze. With a sudden determination, I begin to rummage through Blake’s pockets in his tunic. I take the message that we were supposed to deliver to the 2nd, of course. That would be useful. I wince when I see the blood from my fingers as it smudges against the sides of the envelop. His blood. I suddenly feel sick. I suddenly feel dizzy. I stow it safely in my top pocket of my own tunic. I pull out the map from Blake’s other pocket in his tunic and I gag. It’s saturated in blood. His blood. It’s illegible. I can barley read it. I crumple it up and toss it to the side. There’s no point in having an unreadable map. 

I take Blake’s rings from his lifeless hand and slip one on my finger to remind me of him before tucking the other one safely in my pocket. I open his tunic and go for his identity disc. I tear it off the twine. I go to pry the photograph of his family out of his hand. I stare at it blankly. At his Mum. At Joe. I narrow my eyes at Joe. How am I supposed to tell him his little brother is dead? Heck, how am I supposed to tell Leslie? 

I sigh heavily as I place the photo back on his chest. Face down. 

I glance around me. There’s nothing but the burning farmhouse and grass. But a few feet ahead, I see there’s a pond surrounded by long grass. 

I secure my tunic and crouch up onto my feet. I grunt as I wrap my arms underneath Blake’s lifeless ones. His head lolls to one side, eyes closed. It looks like he’s sleeping. But he isn’t. I wince at the sight of him. So young. So full of life and energy. Oh, why did it have to be him? 

I begin to haul Blake up but he’s too heavy. I grunt as I begin to drag him backwards. But like I said, he’s too heavy. 

Well. You know what they say. Nothing is heavier than the dead body of someone you loved. 

“You alright, mate?” asks a British chirpy-like voice. 

My eyes widen. Oh, so now you decide to come? I glance up to see two British privates with their names on their breast pocket reading: Parry and Atkins. 

A scowl forms on my face and I growl silently, pulling Blake closer to me as if I could still protect him. Private Parry puts one hand up as he and his friend steps forward to me, trying to calm me down. They come in peace. 

“It’s alright. It’s okay,” assures Private Parry. 

Parry and Atkins move forward and grabs hold of Blake’s legs. I sigh shakily, gulping down the tears, and heave Blake’s upper body up. Together, the three of us carry Blake to the long grass. 

As we move him, Atkins asks, “God. What happened to him?” 

I flinch but I don’t acknowledge him. I keep my eyes trained on Blake’s closed ones. Atkins and Parry glance at each other worriedly. Then turn back to me as we settle Blake down gently. 

“Was it the plane?” Parry wonders. “We saw the smoke…” 

I can only nod slowly. But in a hushed voice, barely audible, I whimper, “Yes.” 

Off to the side, I hear a soft voice order, “Go fetch his things!” 

Parry and Atkins straightens up and salutes the Captain as he comes into my view. 

“Sir!” Private Parry says. 

“Yes, sir!” Private Atkins says. 

With that, the two of them rush off to collect my helmet and my rifle. Captain Smith, according to his name on his breast pocket underneath his fur coat, kneels down in front of me. I’m kneeled down behind Blake, staring at him blankly, waiting for him to wake up. 

“A friend?” asks Captain Smith with a raised eyebrow. 

I gulp and nod, letting out a shaky breath. 

“What are you doing here?” demands Captain Smith. 

I glance up at him with blurred eyes. “I-I have an urgent message to send to the 2nd Devons. Orders to stop tomorrow’s attack…” 

“Where are they stationed?” Captain Smith wonders. 

“Just beyond Ecoust,” I mumble, staring impotently at Blake. 

Captain Smith presses his lips together and hums. He sweeps around, his coat flapping behind him. He glances over at me over his shoulder, his brown eyes narrowed. 

“Come with me,” he says. 

I want to shake my head and say no. I want to stay right here next to Blake, my best friend. My brother. He was like a little brother to me. We always had each other’s backs back in the trenches and since this war started. Blake always followed me around like a lost puppy. It was adorable, in a way. He wouldn’t stop bloody talking though. Always telling funny stories. Always thinking about food. 

Joe spoils me too much... 

I don’t move. I can’t take my eyes off of Blake. 

Myrtle’s having puppies… 

Smith must have noticed I wasn’t following him because he stops abruptly and swiftly turns back to me. He narrows his eyes and hums through pursed lips. 

“Come with me, Corporal,” Smith orders. “That’s an order.” 

I lift my head up at him with surprise. “Sir?” 

“We’re passing through Ecoust. We can take you some of the way.” 

I nod. “Sir.” 

I turn my attention back to Blake. My expression softens and my chin wobbles. Wake up, I want to scream at him. Wake up you bloody idiot! But of course, he doesn’t. I can’t leave him here by himself. But I have no choice. I’m running out of time and Joe’s life depends on me. Blake is counting on me. Leslie is counting on me. Heck, the whole 2nd Devons is counting on me. 

Using the grass, I wipe away Blake’s dried blood on my hands. I stand a little wobbly. Smith begins to move forward before me. I force myself to drag my eyes off of Blake and reluctantly follow after him. Smith stops short and turns to face me with a sympathetic expression on his face. He strides up towards me and curious, I stop and tilt my head to one shoulder. 

“Can I tell you something, Lance Corporal?” Smith asks calmly. 

I turn back over to face Blake one more time. Remembering every detail of him. His dark brown curls, his pale childish face, his childish grin, his bubbly laugh. His beaming smile. 

Scho…how about this? 

Smith grabs my arms and spins me around, forcing me to stare deep into his eyes, away from Blake. 

“It doesn’t do you well to dwell on it.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schofield meets the Convoy boys as he heads to Ecoust but encounters some problems along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all characters and plot do not belong to me. They all belong to the incredible Sam Mendes who created this beautiful masterpiece.

WE REACH A small convoy of small four trucks which appears to be waiting for us. I trail closely behind Captain Smith, who has his hands clasped together tightly behind his back. He moves swiftly while I move shakily. Like a leaf. Privates Atkins and Parry follow close behind me with their rifles clutched to their chests, ready to fire in case of an ambush. We reach the convoy. The trucks are all caked in mud and they’re battered from their journey. Soldiers from various ranks mill around, smoking or chatting and stretching their legs and arms. 

At the head of the convoy, the Officer’s truck exhausts its fumes. The gray fumes swirl into the still air. There’s no breeze. 

“Oh, come on, Sargent!” I hear a gruff voice up ahead complain. “Put more men at the base! At the trunk! It’ll be heavier there…” 

Each truck I see are filled to the brim with soldiers. A mixture of seasoned fighters and fresh recruits. All are covered in the mud from No Man’s Land. 

Captain Smith turns to me. “Might be a tight squeeze.” 

We move towards the Officer’s car. Mud hardens on the underage the wheel arches. As we approach, we hear a voice snap, “No! You’re not going to be able to just lift it! Pivot the front end to the left—!” 

At the front of the convoy, I see a large tree trunk that has blocked the road like the cherry blossoms. The tree has felled on purpose, not an accident. The trunk is nearly chopped. Several privates and a Non-commissioned Officer or more commonly known as “NCO” are gathered around the end of the truck, trying to lift it. 

I see a colonel seated at the front, barking orders at the crew behind him. Smith and I slowly and cautiously approach the car. 

“They don’t make things easy, do they?” says the colonel, whose name reads Colonel Collins. “They could have at least retreated with a bit of grace! Bastards.” 

I wince as I hear Blake’s voice in my head. Bastards…Bloody bastard! 

“Sir—” Captain Smith begins but gets instantly cuts off by Collins. 

Collins snaps his head towards us, eyes narrowed directly at me into the pit of my soul. I feel slightly self-conscious as he registers me, brows furrowed together and forehead creased. A scowl appearing on his face. I gulp thickly, the tears now were gone and have dried against my pale cheeks. Colonel Collins hums as he examines me. 

“You’re not one of mine…” hums Collins, his eyes flickering me up and down. 

I gulp again and shake my head. “No, sir.” 

Collins turns to Smith, hoping for a reasonable explanation. 

Smith sighs through his nose. “We’ve got an urgent message to deliver to the 2nd Devons, sir,” Smith explains for me. 

Collins hums with thought as he turns his attention back to the tree in front of us. The men have managed to successfully move it to the left just a bit. 

“Can you get past it?” Collins asks the driver. 

“No sir,” says Harrop, a Sargent who’s the driver seated next to Collins. 

Collins rolls his eyes and groans loudly. “Oh, for God’s sake…” 

He peers his head out the window and screams, “JUST MOVE IT!” 

Smith sighs heavily and shakes his head, rolling his eyes a little. Smith turns to me and nods his head towards the back of the truck. 

“There’s room in the casuals truck, sir,” Smith says to me and I nod. 

Captain Smith then turns his attention back to Colonel Collins. “He has orders—” 

Colonel Collins rolls his eyes and grunts, “Yes, yes. Alright.” He then turns to Harrop. “Come on now! You can get through there sideways!” 

The car finally begins to roll forward. Smith moves off as the engine roars to life and the Colonel’s car begins to maneuver around the tree. I follow Smith closely around the row of single filed trucks. They’re all packed with soldiers. I scan each end of the truck we pass, taking it all in. 

Curious, I turn to Smith, asking, “How’d you get here, sir?” 

Captain Smith shrugs. “Passed No Man’s Land just outside Bapaume. Took us the whole night. Bumped into a couple of Hun stragglers who made a nuisance of themselves.” “You’re going up the new line?” I ask. 

He shrugs again. “Attempting too. The Newfoundlands have pushed forward and are requesting reinforcements.” 

We walk down the row of trucks. We approach the last one. Smith puts a hand on my shoulder and stares down at me with a sympathetic expression. He sighs heavily through his nose. 

“I’m sorry about your friend,” he apologizes. 

I wince and nod, glancing down at my boots. 

He puckers out his lips and hums. “As I said, Lance Corporal, it doesn’t do you well to dwell on it.” 

“No, sir,” I agree. 

We finally reach the rear end of the fourth truck. Two or three privates mill around it. Smoking. I wince, remembering Leslie. God, Leslie… He’s so going to kill me. But when Captain Smith arrives, the privates stand to attention. They salute him, but lower their hands when Smith tells them to be at ease. Smith crosses his arms over his chest and nods his head at the trunk. 

“Hop on,” he says. 

I nod and walk around Smith so I’m at the bumper. Smith nods at the soldiers. 

“Make some space there…! Come on, in you get!” Smith orders. 

Feet shuffle against the truck’s floorboards as the soldiers fight to make room for me. I hear a bit of grumbling coming from them and a few roll their eyes and make an “Ugh” sound. A couple of men grabs both my arms tightly and yanks me up in the truck. 

I stand at the bumper, staring at the twenty soldiers before me like an idiot. I gulp and wedge myself in, making space for myself on the fringe. They don’t look at me, which I don’t mind at all. I don’t feel like conversing with anyone right now. I feel like if I do, I’ll snap at them on accident. I sit myself down on the bench. We’re quiet for a moment until Captain Smith’s footsteps dies down and he’s no longer around. The engines roar to life with a quiet rumble. Then, we’re off. 

I sit there quietly, staring down at Blake’s ring on my finger. He should be here with me. Right now. Not in the grass. If he were here, Blake would be talking his head off to the others around me, trying to get to know each other. Telling them about Myrtle and Joe and Leslie, his family. How he and I became friends at the beginning of the war. How I was a “grumpy old man” when we first met. I didn’t trust anyone then. But Blake, he’s the only one I trust. If he were here beside me, he’d be laughing at a joke one of the soldiers might say. One of the soldiers around me might ask him for another story about Blake’s past and Blake would be willing to tell them all excitingly and happily. The soldiers would be hooked in, intrigued. Then, of all a sudden, Blake would sing. The lullaby Joe would used to sing to him as a child. They’d be in awe by his beautiful, charming voice. Just like I was when he first sang me that lullaby. I sigh heavily and rest my head against my head, closing my eyes hoping to wake up and to find him with me. But I don’t. He’s not here. I turn my head past the soldier at the end of the trunk, at the farmhouse where I’d left him. 

“Alright, here we go again, boys!” Cooke, according to his name tag on his uniform, exclaims, breaking the silence. He claps his hands together and grins sheepishly. 

“Welcome abord to the night bus to eff-knows-where,” a man with a tan colored keffiyeh with mocha colored skin and a scruffy, thick, black beard grumbles with a roll of his dark brown eyes. I notice someone saying very faintly, “Shut up, Rossi.” 

“Is that a dead dog?” asks Cooke who’s seated across from Rossi. 

No one answers. I glance out the back of the truck again, watching the farmhouse slowly disappear behind us. My throat burns and my chest tightens as I blink rapidly, trying not to break down. I gulp thickly and let out a shaky breath. 

“You got a fag?” asks Cooke, extending out his hand. 

Rossi nods and hands a lighter to him. “Yeah, here.” 

They light their cigarettes. 

Faintly from up ahead of the truck, I hear a voice command, “Butler…oy! Carry on with that story.” 

I wince when the voice says “story” thinking of Blake and his stories he’d always tell us to keep us sane. In a soft whisper, Butler continues on with his story. “Oh yeah! Right. So, when we got off the train, Beaufoy comes up to us and he’s having a right go. ‘Lance Corporal! Whatever one does, one never lets standards slip!’ Then, Scott comes out of the latrine. He wipes his hand on the back of Beaufoy’s jacket. Shit all down his back!” 

I force myself to grin slightly as the other’s laugh heartily. 

“Was that meant to be Captain Beaufoy?” wonders Cooke. 

“Oh, eff off you!” Butler snaps, rolling his eyes. “You can’t do any better!” 

I pull my bloody tunic around myself as a blanket. I hadn’t realized I’m shivering until now. My teeth chatter quietly. I stare off into the distance. Blank and empty. 

Cooke impersonates horribly on what appears to be a lisp as he continues, “Men! Your rifle stocks are an embarrassment to the entire expeditionary force.’” 

“You’re both bloody awful,” groans a sepoy, Jondalar, I think his name was. 

“You don’t know!” Cooke protests. “You barley even speak the bloody language!” 

“He’s got a better grasp of it than you, Cooke,” Malky, another private from the front of the trunk, scoffs. 

“Go on then, Jondalar!” Cooke says, thrusting his hands up in the air with frustration. He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Give it a go! Let’s see it then!” 

The men around me are getting rowdier, wilder. They’re howling and clapping, encouraging him to have it a go. I gulp thickly, closing my eyes gently as I lean my head back against the wall, trying so hard not to cry. My chest tightens and I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling in my lap. 

“Let’s hear it then, Johnny!” encourages Private Rossi, slapping his back. 

The men noisily encourages him. Johnny rolls his eyes and grumbles something underneath his breath. The others whoop and holler, laughing and pumping their fists, their eyes trained on Johnny as they lean forward closer to hear him. Some of them are grinning brightly. 

“Rossi!” Jondalar impersonates, much better than Cooke if I do say so myself. “Never in my two hundred years a soldier have I seen much sorry excuse for latrine pit—” The truck erupts with laughter. I snort, despite myself as I see Cooke next to me open his mouth to protest, eyes shining with anger before he clamps it shut and crosses his arms over his chest. He pouts like a two-year-old getting scolded at by his mother. Cooke seethes through his nose. Jondalar arches an eyebrow at Cooke, smirking as he folds his arms over his chest. 

“Shite!” Cooke groans. “Come on! That’s total shit!” 

Cooke gets shouted down by the men around me. Someone tries to chuck a canteen at Cooke, but he misses. 

Cooke dodges the canteen, nearly bumping his shoulder into mine. He glares at the canteen thrower. 

“Oi!” Cooke gasps, looking at the thrower like he’s crazy. “Could’ve taken my teeth out with that!” 

“You could do with a new set,” Rossi mutters. 

Cooke shoots him a hard glare, growling behind his clenched teeth. I’m suddenly still again, staring off past Rossi’s shoulder and into space. Wishing desperately he were here. After a few moments, the laughter finally dies down. Butler turns to face me with a curious expression on his face. I pull out my wrist watch to check the time. I don’t have much time left. 

“You got somewhere you need to be?” he asks. 

Yes, I do, I think. Suddenly, and out of nowhere, the truck lurches violently before I could answer. I bump my shoulder into Cooke’s shoulder. Cooke glares at me for a second but then relaxes and groans when the engine suddenly groans itself underneath us. Tires beneath us spinning. 

“Oh, no…” Private Rossi groans. 

“Arsehole needs driving lessons,” mumbles Cooke with a roll of his eyes. 

A few men groan around me in agreement. A few nod. 

I stand up from my seat and grab hold of the of the side of the canvas. I peer out to see what’s wrong. 

I look around to see the wheel stuck in the mud. I glance out at the side of the truck, squinting. The truck has apparently tried to get around another fallen tree but ended up stuck in the process. The wheel is sinking into a muddy ditch. 

I turn back to face Cooke as he stares out at the wheel. 

“He should reverse,” I say. 

Cooke nods. “Yeah.” 

I raise an eyebrow, expecting him to do something. He doesn’t. He just lingers around the truck as the tire spins and mud splatters all over. I sigh heavily and roll my eyes. I stomp up towards the driver. 

“Try it in reverse!” I shout. 

He doesn’t do anything for a moment. I groan. I don’t have time for this. 

Cupping my hands around my mouth, I scream louder, “REVERSE!” 

A crunch of gears as the driver puts it in reverse. The engine revs again. I squat down to have a good look. The wheel is still spinning, splattering mud all over my knees. It’s starting to slip deeper. 

I stand back up, shaking my head and waving my hands in hopes to tell the driver to stop. He doesn’t see me and so he just keeps on trying to reverse. I groan with frustration, mentally rolling my eyes. 

“No,” I say. But of course, the driver doesn’t hear me. At the corner of my eye, I see Cooke leaning against the truck with a raised eyebrow and a smudge look on his face and Rossi with the same expression but on the inside of the truck. I roll my eyes and turn back to the driver. I seriously do not have time for this! “Stop. STOP!” Thankfully, he does. I jog back towards the back of the truck, waving my hand backwards over my shoulder. 

“Everyone inside get out!” I order. 

Some of the men hop on out and mill around next to me looking like dumb idiots. Others rather prefer to stay inside. 

“All out!” I snap, urging them to climb on out. 

They do this time, but they aren’t moving fast enough. Ugh. Don’t they understand I don’t have time to mill around like this! Joe’s life is depending on me! Blake is counting on me to reach his brother in time! 

“COME ON!” I scream, my throat burns with guilt and grief and it’s raw. 

“Alright! Alright!” Butler says as he tosses his hands up in the air as he climbs on out of the truck, his boots crunching underneath the mud. “Keep your bloody hair on!” Ooh, how I wanted to punch him in the face. But I restrained myself and clench my fists at my side and kept my composure calm and steady. Begrudgingly, though, a few men hop on out of the back of the truck. They clamber around me and close to the side of the truck. Some roll their sleeves and flexes their muscles, cracking their knuckles and craning their neck. Pretty soon, I have a whole line of men next to me, hands on the bumper and on the side of the truck as we get ready to push it. 

“Right,” I breathe. “Ready? One, two, three!” 

Using all our strengths combined together, we push the end of the truck forward. I scream through gritted teeth, squeezing my eyes shut as we push it. The tire spins rapidly against the ditch, splattering mud all over us. The truck doesn’t move. But I don’t stop. I’m determined. I push and push, screaming with agony as my muscles burn in my biceps. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth as we push harder and harder. Desperation painted all over my face. 

“We need some wood!” Cooke grunts. “Put it under the wheels!” 

The men surrounding me back away and begin searching for some wood. I don’t fall back though. My hands grip the bumper and I shake my head, panting as I feel cold sweat dripping down the side of my face. My heart pounds anxiously against my chest as I pant harder. I turn back around to face the men, who some are exchanging worried glances with each other. 

“No!” I snap. “We haven’t got the time!” 

I turn back around myself and with all my strength, desperately try to shift the truck to the side and out of the ditch. It doesn’t budge. 

I groan, spinning around on my heels to face the men in front of me. My eyes narrow angrily at them and I lose it. 

"We all need to push!” I demand. My whole body is trembling again but this time both from shock from Blake’s death and from the hard effort. “COME OOONN!!!” 

The men merely looks at me as though I’m a bloody idiot. I might as well be. Some exchange hesitant glances with each other before turning to me. Tears threaten to spill out of my eyes like a river down my cheeks. I breathe hard, pleading with them with my eyes. My heart pounds like thunder against my chest, I’m breathing hard as I feel sweat dripping down the side of my face from my temple to my jaw. I gulp in a huge breath of air before pleading with them. 

“Please,” I whine. “Please. I have to go, now! Please!” 

Miraculously, the men fall back around me, surrounding me protectively. They grip the sides and the bumper of the truck. My eyes widen and a small grin appears on my face. Private Butler nods curtly to the men around me. 

“Alright lads!” Butler encourages them. I let out a sigh of relief. “Come on!” 

Together, the twenty of us begin to push harder than before against the truck. The tire squeals and spins against the ditch, splattering more mud around us. We stop, taking a breathing break, before getting ourselves ready again. Private Rossi, who stands on the left side of me with his hands gripping the bumper, nods at us and at me directly. I nod back, panting and bracing myself. 

“Come on, boys!” Rossi encourages us. 

I nod back. “Right. One…two…three!” 

I scream with desperation, my head tilted back a little as I push with all my might against the truck. My eyes are squeezed shut again and my teeth are bared together as I scream through them. 

“AAAAAAGGGHHH!!!” I scream through gritted teeth. 

“Come on, boys!” Rossi exclaims. “One more push, yeah! Yes! One! Two! Three!” 

I scream again: “AAAAAGGGHHH!!!!” my back pressed against the bumper, hands gripping it for dear life and it’s like I’m currently sitting in an invisible chair. My feet kick out as we slowly begin to push the truck forward. My head tilts back again as I scream in agony against the effort. 

Suddenly, the truck begins to move! I notice it catches some grass and then…WHOMP! The truck lurches forward and out of the ditch. Finally. 

Exhausted and breathless, I collapse face first onto the mud, clenching the mud in my palms. I breathe hard, sucking in huge gulps of air. I gulp down the tears that are threatening to pour down my cheeks. Oh, Blake. If only you were here you would make things a lot easier! Where are you?! Where are you, Blake? I need you! Please. Come back to me! I can’t do this… 

I feel a hand grip my forearm and haul me up to my feet. I turn to see that it’s Jondalar who assisted me up. I thank him, panting and sniffling. He nods as we jog back to the truck. 

“Back in! Get back in! Go!” I say, shooing the men inside. My voice cracks. 

Seeing my distraught expression on my pale face, the boys hop back in reluctantly. I grab hold of Cooke’s hand as he helps me inside. I thank him and he nods. I feel a hand on my shoulder again and I turn around to see Jondalar staring at me with a worried expression on his face. 

“You alright?” he asks. 

I nod slowly, but I don’t say anything. He nods understandably and walks around the side of the truck. Cooke hops down and follows close by him. I close my eyes, letting a few exhausted tears slip from them down my cheeks while everyone’s distracted. I rest my head against the wall inside the truck, relieved and well exhausted. My pounding heart slowly begins to die down and into a more normal heartbeat. 

“Here, Driver, how about you try to keep on the road for a bloody change!” Cooke says. 

“Oh, piss off!” the driver retorts, causing Cooke and Jondalar to snicker a bit. 

The two are the last ones to hop up in the truck again. Cooke sits on the right side of me and Jondalar across from me, next to Rossi. 

The truck rattles a bit as it starts and then off it goes.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schofield arrives at the bridge where he encounters a few problems along the way with only little time left...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all characters and plot do not belong to me. They all belong to the incredible Sam Mendes who created this beautiful masterpiece. This story is not edited. Grammar and editing suggestions are welcomed.

IT’S QUIET IN the truck. I can feel all the men’s eyes trained on me. I gulp thickly and let out a shaky breath before slowly opening my eyes again. Sure enough, my conclusion was correct. They’re all gaping at me like I’m some exotic animal. I can tell they want to ask me something, anything just to get me talking, but they’re too afraid of me, I guess. 

“So,” Jondalar whistles after a while of awkward silence around us. “Where’re you heading?” 

“I have to get to the 2nd Devons,” I explain. “Just past Ecoust.” 

The men exchange curious glances with each other. Then, turn their attention back to me. 

“Why?” asks Jondalar. 

I gulp again and let out a shaky breath, leaning forward on my thighs with my forearms resting upon them. Fingers intertwined. I stare at them blankly, picturing his fingers intertwined with mine. Stained and covered with blood. His blood. 

“They’re attacking at dawn,” I say in a moto tone voice, staring vacantly at my hands which vibrate. “I have orders to stop them.” 

“How come?” Malky asks with an arched eyebrow. 

“They’re walking into a trap…” I whisper. 

“How many?” Cooke wonders. 

“Sixteen hundred,” I answer without hesitation. 

Their eyes widen and jaws are slacked down to their shoulders with shock and amazement. This stops them. 

“God,” Cooke breathes with a shake of his head in shock after a few more moments of empty silence. 

I nod, my lips wobbling. 

“Why did they send you on your own?” Butler inquires. 

I shake my head, still staring at my bloodied hands. “They didn’t. There were two of us…” 

He pops into my head almost instantly. I wince when I see his radiant smile as he tells me Myrtle’s having puppies. His fond smile as memories play in his mind as we walk past the cherries near the farm house. His laugh at my terrible jokes as I try to make small talk with him. Leslie pressing a fatherly kiss to his temple and him smiling softly. He follows me around all the time back then. Follows me like a lost puppy. Puppies. 

Myrtle’s having puppies… 

God. How am I supposed to explain to Joe that his brother is dead? That his little brother is dead? I don’t think I can. He’ll hate me for sure. He’ll blame me and I blame myself. How could I be so freaking stupid? Turning my back on him? Letting him soothe a terrified German? Are you a bloody idiot, Schofield?! 

Hey, Scho! Check this out. A goofy grin on his face as he bounces slightly on the beds in the tunnel. 

What’s in the bags? 

You can not be this hungry… 

Joe spoils me too much… 

Am I dying? 

Yes. Yes, I think you are. 

“Hey,” a soft, soothing voice whispers. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I glance up to find Rossi eyeing me worriedly. The whole crew is. “You alright, mate? You zoned out there for a moment.” 

I gulp and let out a shaky breath. “Yeah…yeah. I’m fine…thank you.” 

Rossi nods and leans back against his seat a little. 

“So, it’s down to you, huh?” Rossi says. 

I nod. “Yes.” 

“You’ll never make it!” Cooke gasps. 

Blake, if we’re not clever about this, no one will get to your brother! 

I will. 

I whip my head around to face Cooke and narrow my eyes determinedly at him. “I will.” 

Rossi offers me a glass of whiskey. I happily take an unhealthy sip of it. I deserve it, anyways. 

“Thank you,” I say, handing Rossi back his whiskey. 

Rossi nods, tucking away his whiskey safely in his pocket. We all turn back to face the back of the truck. I see the farmhouse a few feet behind us. He’s still there. Just lying there in the middle of the grass, rotting to death. My heart aches and I can’t bare to look anymore. I squeeze my eyes shut before turning my head around and away from the view as it slips away from us. 

The truck slips past by a small helmet. Or what remains of it, anyways. Houses have been torn to shreds, so they now appear like a skeleton. The destruction, though, appears to be fresh. I notice dead cattle lying in the fields. I resist the urge to throw up. 

Rossi tsked and shook his head disappointingly. 

“Look at that,” he growls. “Effing look at it. Three years fighting over this. We should have just let the bastards keep it. I mean, who machine guns cows?” 

“Huns with extra bullets!” Malky scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Bastards,” Rossi mutters. 

I wince. Bastard...! Bloody bastard…! 

While they’re distracted and chatting and complaining about the Huns, I unbutton my breast pocket and pull out my tin. I unclip the tin and pop the message inside. I clip the tin back up and tuck it back into my pocket. 

“Clever,” Jondalar says. “They know if they don’t shoot the cow, you’ll eat it.” 

Rossi nods. “Fair point. Still bastards.” 

“Yeah,” Malky agrees. “It’s not even our bloody country!” 

Suddenly, the breaks creaks as the trucks slows down a little. I gasp, jumping a little startled. But I force myself to calm down. 

“How long do you reckon they are?” Butler asks. 

“Why?” Jondalar chuckles a little. “Worried we’ll catch up to them?” 

“Yeah, right,” Butler says with a roll of his eyes. “Be a bloody miracle at this rate.” 

“You don’t know,” Cooke says suddenly. “Could be right around the next corner.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Rossi groans. “They’re not!” 

“Why don’t they just bloody well give up, eh?” Cooke complains. “Don’t they just want to go home?” 

“They hate their wives and mothers,” Rossi grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. “And Germany must be a shit hole.” 

He does have a point. 

“They’re retreating!” Cooke says. “They’re miles back! We’ve got them on the ropes at least!” 

Jondalar shoots Cooke a hard glare. “No. We don’t.” 

Suddenly, the truck slows down. It begins to judder as if it’s trying to navigate past cobbles and rocks. My eyes dart towards the back, worried and slightly panicked. Suddenly, the truck stops, coming to a halt. A few of the men around me, myself included, prepare themselves to pop on out again. 

“Oh, bullocks,” Butler groans. “What now?!” 

“Not another bloody tree!” Cooke also groans. 

“Bridge is down!” the driver calls from up the front. 

Oh, great. Fantastic, this is just bloody fantastic! 

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Cooke says sarcastically in a hushed voice. 

I stand up and peer out of the back of the truck. I turn back to the others. 

“Looks like I’ll be getting out here,” I say to the others. “Good luck.” 

“Keep some of that luck for yourself, pal,” Rossi scoffs. “Think you’ll need it.” 

“Good luck, mate,” Butler says with a curt nod as he shakes my hand firmly. 

I nod back with a tight smile and I hop out of the truck. Malky clamps my arm firmly and stares right into the pit of my eyes. 

“Good luck,” he says. 

I jump down onto the new landscape. The land is sliced through by a huge, straight, industrial canal. I glance towards it. The sun is now just below the horizon. The men from the truck watches me go. 

It’ll be dark by then… 

That won’t bother me. 

“Good luck, guv,” I hear Cooke say from behind me. 

“Good luck,” says Private Singer. 

“Don’t balls it up!” Cooke whistles. 

“I hope you get there,” Jondalar says in a hushed voice as he grips my hand in a firm shake. 

I nod with a warm smile upon my face. “Thank you.” 

Jondalar nods and hops back into the truck, sitting down on the bench and watching me go quietly. 

By now, Captain Smith has joined. His hands clasped firmly behind his fur coat. The brim of his cap pointed towards his nose, hiding his stern dark brown eyes. 

“Next bridge is six miles,” Captain Smith explains. “We’ll have to divert.” 

I shake my head. “I can’t, sir. I haven’t had the time…” 

“Of course,” Smith says with a nod. 

He offers me his hand and I take it nonetheless. 

“Best of luck,” Smith says. 

“Thank you, sir,” I reply. 

He nods and spins around on his heel. I turn to face the battered down bridge a few feet across from me. I adjust my straps and my rifle which is secured against my back. I unloose it and prep it in case I have to shoot. Smith stops and glances at me over his shoulder as I’m adjusting my rifle. 

“Corporal?” Smith says and I look up sharply, standing to attention. “If you do manage to get to Colonel Mackenzie…make sure there’re witnesses.” 

A beat. I furrow my brows together underneath my metal helmet, trying to make sense of what he means. I cock my head slightly to one shoulder. 

“They are direct orders, sir,” I say slowly. 

“I know,” Smith hums. “But some men just want the fight.” 

“Thank you, sir,” I say. 

Smith nods before finally turning around on his heel and heading back towards the front of the convoy. He cups his hands around his mouth and screams, “Driver! Move off!” 

I watch the small convoy behind me drive away. The gray fumes swirl up in the air as it drives off. I sigh heavily, reading my rifle, before turning back towards the canal. I turn my attention to a new obstacle in my path. What remains of a battered bridge appears in front of me. The sides mostly torn out. There are a few support beams on the side and thankfully the rail is still intact. There’s a couple of holes in the middle of the bridge but not a lot. Underneath the beaten-down bridge is murky water with rocks and patches of grass. The bridge has a few twisted metal pieces as well which sink into the water below. 

I squint a little to get a better view. The town of Ecoust is just two hundred yards up ahead. It’s a jagged silhouette, though. I can barely see a thing up ahead that far. I notice that there’s smoke which drifts up towards the sky from the town. I realize then that the town is on fire. But I think I can make it if I’m fast enough. Better get going then, shall we? 

The canal, though, is large and industrial as it appears to be as I walk up to the foot of the bridge to get a better view. It seems to be about ninety feet wide, made of various materials such as stone on the sides. Once deep, however, the wood and detritus float among the surface of the murky water. On the opposite bank, there are remains of what appears to be a lock house. It’s two stories high. The windows appear to be blown in with the roof half collapsed. Beyond that, the remains of small buildings which looks to be abandoned and then there’s the jagged town of Ecoust just up ahead. I survey it, narrowing my eyes as I try to get a full three hundred sixty degree view. It’s quiet. Really quiet. I suddenly feel a wave churn in my stomach. Too quiet, I should say. I don’t like this. 

I glance around me to see if there’s a way across the bank. There’s nothing but the bridge. Well, it’s my best bet, huh? As I approach the end of the bridge which leads to the countryside road behind me, I now notice that both sides of the bridge have been blown to bits and it slants down into the dark water below me. 

I march on the broken bridge then slowly start to climb up on a slim metal balustrade and I begin to inch downward towards the waterline. I spread my arms out next to me, keeping my gaze down at my feet as I watch myself put one foot in front of the other. I wobble a bit but I regained my balance. Thankfully. 

I reach a gigantic hole before me. I stop, holding my breath. My eyes widen and I silently curse to myself. About eight feet of water is between me and the other side of the bridge. 

CRACK! 

A gunshot slaps the water just in front of me. Instinctively, I leap forward. My foot slips from underneath me and I struggle to haul myself up with my own two bare hands. I cling onto the metal latticework as I scramble forward. 

CRACK! Another shot rings out before, hitting the water behind me and instinctively making me flinch. 

CRACK! A bullet hits the metal. Thankfully, the bullet didn’t go through my hand. 

One hand after the other, I grunt as I quickly climb across the torn carcass of the bridge towards the far bank. 

CRACK! 

Another bullet rings out, high, loud, and sharp. I drop myself down and throw myself into the cover of the far bank wall. 

I suck in huge breathes as I press my body into the stone bank. I stay low, breathing hard. I inch forward and along the side until I can become aware of where the shots are coming from. 

I look up. Now I can register the direction of the shots. There’s obviously a shooter in the lock house. I think the shots are coming from the upper floor through the single high window. I slide along the bank until I hit a small stairwell set into the wall of the canal bank. There’s barely enough cover, though, but it’s my only option. 

CRACK! 

I flinch, sucking in my breath for dear life. Another bullet rings out and it smashes against the stone as I quickly start towards the other side of the stairs. 

I stay low, hastily reading my rifle. Come on, come on, I think as I load a bullet into the gun. My hands are injured and the palm with the bandage on seers with agony. They’re frozen solid against the cold and they’re slow to work with. My hands vibrate and shake violently as I try to load my weapon and as I occasionally check to see if the shooter is still there. Panting, I try to still my trembling body as I slowly creep up to the top of the stairs. I brace myself to peer over the top step to line up my shot. 

CRACK! 

Another bullet rages out. It zips by my head and into the stone. Just barely making it. I suck in another deep breath, eyes wide with fear and bracing myself for whatever lays ahead. I exhale long and slow as I lean into the shadow of the wall. I ready my rifle… 

I gulp thickly, squeezing my eyes shut and inhaling deeply for four before exhaling slowly for seven. It’s a breathing technique Blake taught me before all this mess happened. Whenever I’d end up having a panic attack of some sort after my traumatizing nightmares, I’d forget to breathe and Blake would be there, helping me calm down. He’d count for four, breathing along with me and exhaling for seven, also breathing along with me. Just thinking about him makes my stomach churn and my head ache. He should be here with me right now. But he isn’t. Move on. 

I reopen my eyes and narrow them down at the shooter. I lift my body off the wall once and POP! I shoot. 

CRACK! The shooter happily fires back. 

I curse, aloud, and aim again. 

POP! 

I’m still for a moment. The shooting’s stopped. I’m breathing heavily, eyes wide and body shaking with shock and fear and adrenaline and from the cold. I spin around and aim and fire two shots through the window in the lockhouse. 

CRACK! CRACK! I hear the wood splinter. There’s complete silence now. Did I get him? 

I wait. 

Silence. 

I think I got him. I have to be sure, though. 

I steady myself before pushing myself up. I stand up shakily and carefully, readying my rifle. Rifle ready, I quickly advance towards the house. I reach the wooden doors and push it open with my free hand and move on inside. Inside, there’s no movement on the ground floor. There’s a flight of stairs up ahead of me. My ears burn as I listen for any sounds, any hints of movement. Holding my breath, I carefully and quietly step forward. The floorboards creak underneath my boots and I wince at each step and sound it makes as I back towards the wall. My rifle aimed and pointed at the top of the stairs, I stayed low as I slowly move against the wall as I move upward. Parts of the upstairs come into view. I can now see a door to the upper room. 

Slowly, I move along the short corridor. With my foot, I push the door open and it creaks. It swings open agonizingly slowly. The hinges creak and squeak only to reveal… My eyes widen as I only have split second to register what’s in the room in front of me. The German soldier crouched in front of the window with his knees up to his chest, clutching the rifle to his chest also has barely time to react. I ready my rifle just as he simultaneously readies his. 

BOOM! BOOM! 

Both guns go off at the same time. I don’t know who shot first at who. Or if either of us got hit. I hear a plink against my helmet. The German soldier in front of me must have shot my helmet. Obviously. 

The blow suddenly takes my breath away. I gasp as my neck and upper ripples backwards. Instinctively, I stumble a little backwards and I fall down the stairs like a tumbleweed. 

BANG! 

I reach the bottom of the stairs, flat on my back. My head spins and screams with agony. I plead in my mind for some pain killers. I suddenly feel a wave of exhaustion overflow through my body. My stomach churns. My eyes flutter shut and the world dissolves into blackness.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schofield arrives at the town of Ecoust but time is slowly running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all characters and plot do not belong to me. They all belong to Sam Mendes.

WHEN I WAKE up, it’s still dark. Just how it was before I…before I what? What happened? How did I end up down the bottom of the stairs? All I remember is the German soldier who was slumped against the wall underneath the window in the house I’m in pointing his rifle at me with a scared look on his face. But what does it matter? I’m alive and that’s all that matters right? 

Clink. 

I hear a soft drop clinks nearby me. I crane my neck upright to face the ceiling. The water drop comes from there, in the hole. It drips onto my forehead and I blink stupidly. My eyes flutter open slightly and they squint. I start to move gingerly, groaning as a massive migraine suddenly slams into me like a brick wall. I lift my hand up with slight difficulty. Hissing, I run it along the back of my head to check for any wounds. When I pull my hand back, I examine it confusedly. I curse mentally and sigh heavily with frustration. Black blood fills the palm of my hand. I prop myself up with one elbow at the bottom of the stairs. I grunt as I get into a comfortable position. I try to focus. My face is damp along with my hair. Drowsily, as if I had been drugged, I glance down at my lap. My vision blurs and I suddenly feel woozy as I see my legs sprawled out in front of me. Maybe I did get drugged. Maybe the German soldier’s bullet is loaded with a drug. What? I don’t know. Maybe morphine? Or something to knock me out so he could escape while I was unconscious on the floor? Yeah, maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s what happened before I woke up. 

My legs are sprawled out on the stairs in front of me. I glance around, unsure which way is up or which way is down. I flick my wrist to reveal my watch. I have no idea what time it is. I can’t read the time. The face of my watch is cracked. 

Panic surges through me. I have somewhere I need to be right now. Joe is counting me to save his life. Blake is counting me to save his brother. My heart aches at the thought of him. Blake. He should be here right. I squeeze my eyes shut as I force the tears to stop. I can’t cry now. I have to move. Joe needs me. Heck, sixteen hundred men need me. Otherwise, as General Erinmore put it, it’ll be a massacre. 

Get up, I think. Get. Up! Get up, Lance Corporal! 

I glance around for my rifle, hoping the Hun didn’t take it with him in his escape. I let out a sigh of relief. Thank God. There it is. My precious baby. The rifle sits at the top of the stairs in front of me. I crawl onto my knees, hissing as the headache increases. I grunt as I crawl up the stairs like a baby on his hands and knees. I grab my rifle and practically hugged it tightly. 

Suddenly, the room fills with bright white light. Am I dying? I wince. No, Schofield. You’re not. You’re alive. Get a hold of yourself. The bright white light swings across the room. Curious, I climb upward to get a better look. Another bright light crosses the night sky and fills the room. It’s a flare, I realize. 

As I finally reach the top of the stairs, I notice that the German solider is slumped against the floor. Dead. I let out a sigh of relief. I spin around on my heel and jog down the stairs. 

When I push the front door open of the lockhouse, all I see is darkness. I stand stupidly in front of the doorway, glancing up at the sky. My rifle in hand. Suddenly, white light bursts from the sky. I watch it fall slowly to the Earth. The magnesium light nearly blinding me. 

As the light descends before me, the world suddenly undulates. I stare at it in complete awe. My jaw slacked down to my shoulder and my eyes wide. Am I dreaming? Is this a dream? 

The falling flare seems to be playing with me. Playing with reality. Shapes and shadows warp across the land. There must have been a rainstorm while I was out cold on the floor in the lockhouse. That’s probably what the drip was. Rain. In front of me, I see the outlines of destroyed buildings contract and expand ahead of me. 

This must be Ecoust. I must be in Ecoust. With this in mind, I begin to stagger forward a bit. I struggle against my way to through shifting spots or darkness. I’m unable to tell which is a shadow and what is a ditch. I’m delirious. Confused. Frightened, even. I’m panting hard, my eyes wide as I run for my life. Rifle clutched close to me. My pants are sharp and ragged. My head pounds. My heart hammers against my chest. Blood pumps through me with adrenaline. Next to me are puddles. Some are small, some are large. But inside them, I can see my frantic expression on the surface. The puddles reflect the glowing light, glowing as they fall around me and stinging my eyes. CRACK! 

A gunshot nearby rings out. Instinctively duck, using my arms as protection since I don’t have my helmet. I think I left it back inside the lockhouse. But what does it matter? That stupid helmet isn’t my priority right now. But somewhere near me is another sniper. Great. 

I stop for a moment, confused. Where is he coming from? The sniper? He’s got to be near, not too far away from me if I can hear the shot this close. 

CRACK! 

I yelp and instinctively duck down, again using my arms above my head for protection. Another gunshot rings out in the distance. Shrilled shouts are heard. Well, what am I waiting for? I force one foot in front of the other and I begin to run again. 

I run out this time at full pelt. As I do, I see a flare light die out and it now careens into the darkness. 

I’m running blindly, not knowing where I’m really going. I’m just going straight. Ducking occasionally out of instinct. I can hear the sound of my footfalls thumping against the cobblestone roads. My breath is ragged as my heart pounds with adrenaline against my chest, eyes wide with fear and shock. 

I end up crashing through a puddle. The noise causes shots to ring out. The bullet buzzes nearby me in the darkness. Then suddenly I hear a sharp hiss as another flare bursts out above me. I fling myself down in the rubble. Shots clip around me. I lay there motionless, breathing heavily as I try to disappear into the rubble to camouflage myself within the rubble. I wait for the light to die out. 

After a few moments of dreaded waiting, I brace myself to look up. I’m desperately trying to memorize my next path. Where to go now? The light finally dies. I’m up now, scrambling to my feet and yanking my rifle off the ground next to me. My boots clatter against the cobble underneath me as I sprint along the road. Another flare goes up and into the night sky. But this time, I don’t bother to stop. I don’t have to time to stop and linger. Sixteen hundred men are counting on me right now. I keep moving for all what’s worth. I keep moving for him. 

The flare sweeps directly over me. I dart towards what appears to be a bombed out shop. Or the remains of it, anyways. As the light dies above me, I turn into an alleyway corner. It’s dark. Why does that surprise me? I start to move along the alleyway, occasionally glancing back over my shoulder at the ragged street behind me in the distance. I come to slow walk, feeling safe now that I’m in the darkness and hidden from view. 

When I turn back around to face the front, I notice flickering light down the end of the alley. I head straight towards it without any hesitation. 

I stop in the middle of the alleyway. I glance in both ways. A broad main market appears in both directions. All the windows are smashed and buildings have been shelled and some of them have even collapsed in on themselves. Some have vanished entirely. I cautiously peer out along the wide street. To my left, at the far end of the street, I see the Main Square which is framed by a colonnade. Beyond, just out of sight though, appears to be something large. And burning. 

I check both ways before walking down the ruins of the empty street and towards the square. Wary. I notice that large medieval colonnades flank the entrance of the square. Some have crumbled. I slip through them and underneath the columns. I stop abruptly underneath the columns. My eyes widen at the sight. Jaw slacked a little. The destruction here is staggering. 

Colonnades run around most of the square with massive sections which are pitted with gaps. Whole buildings are gone! Like…they have missing teeth! The blackness fills them up. Entire stories have been have fallen away, revealing empty rooms. At the center of the square, is the remains of what appears to be a fountain. In the far corner of the square, I see a Church on fire. The firelight reflects off the cobblestones and puddles. I stare at it in complete awe. 

Then, at the corner of my eye, I spot something. In front of the bright flames, appears to be a silhouette. A man’s silhouette, I think. It looks like one anyways. I tilt my head to one shoulder. I obviously see him. I think he obviously sees me because the man stops as well. He also lowers his weapon and starts walking smoothly towards me. I squint at him. I can’t tell if he’s a German or a British soldier. 

Suddenly, the man lifts his gun and he starts to run. He heads straight towards me. It’s a German. 

I respond quickly. Heart pounding, I take off through the colonnade. At the corner of my eye, I see the soldier behind me lift his gun, aims, and fires after me. 

I don’t stop. Panting, I head out of the square. I can hear shouts of the soldier coming after me, though. I run full tilt. I turn a corner. Ahead, to my left, at about knee height, is a low cellar window. 

I head towards it and grab it. It doesn’t fling open right away like I thought it would do. It’s locked. I curse silently to myself as I desperately try to yank at it, grunting. I can hear footsteps. He’s getting closer. Beside the window, though, is a coal chute. Perhaps I could slide in there? It’s worth a shot. 

In a flash, I’m on my hands and knees scrambling through the dark opening. It’s pitch black when I’m in. It takes me a moment for my eyes to adjust. I blink several times to get used to the sudden darkness. I clutch my rifle and back into the shadows. My breath saws in and out as I listen to the slap of running footsteps getting closer. Sucking in a deep breath, I slide down the darkness as the pair of German boots run by the low window. I stay crouched in a low position, breathing hard and shallow. Heart pounding against my chest so loud I can even hear it in my ears. I listen closely as the footsteps slowly recede. My eyes finally leave the window and I glance around me. I’m in a low-ceilinged coal cellar. Sections of the roof have been collapsed and therefore letting in the rain drip and letting in some light. The room is empty. Or so it seems. Then, something catches my eye. 

At the far end of the room, is a small doorway. Heavy fabric has been strung across it. I catch a flicker of flame escaping through the material. I ready my rifle. I point it at the curtain, aimed, and the gun is cocked. Carefully, I advance to the small room. I push the fabric aside with my rifle. As my eyes adjust to the sudden light, I see movement in the shadows. Instinctively, I lift my rifle. I let out a soft gasp. There’s a woman who appears to be in her late teens, probably about the same age as Blake, with fizzy dark brown hair sprawled over her shoulders and a purple frail dress. Her face is pale and soot covers her cheeks a little. Her brown eyes are wide with fear and hollow. Her eyes widen and fill with even more fear when she sees me. She doesn’t even move to flee. There’s no where to go anyways. 

“Il ny rien ici. Nous n’avons rien pour vous. S’il vous plait,” she says. 

I frown, tilting my head to one shoulder. She’s French. Luckily, I know a bit of French. I lower my rifle and set it down next to me. I put my hands up in front of me as I slowly step towards her to show her I come in peace. She eyes me skeptically and they flicker off to something to my side then back to me. With each step I take, she instinctively recoils and steps back. 

“Anglais,” I whisper shakily. “Not German. Friend…I-I’m a friend.” 

She seems to calm a little. I glance around the room. 

“This…place…this town. Ecoust? C’est Ecoust?” I ask her. 

She nods. “Oui.” 

I let out a sigh of relief, my shoulders slump down and I begin to relax a little. 

I hiss suddenly and wince when I feel the pain in the back of my head suddenly whams against my forehead like someone tossed a ton of bricks at me. I sway a little, eyes fluttering. 

“Ou sont les autres?” she asks, scanning around the room. 

She turns to me, eyebrow raised. 

“Others?” I say and then shake my head. “N-No others…no. Just me…” 

She cocks her head to one shoulder and stares at me as if I’m an idiot. I point at myself with a nod. 

“Only me,” I say. 

She nods slowly and understandably. There’s an awkward pause between us. 

“I…I need to be somewhere,” I begin to explain to her. “I need to find a wood to the South East?” 

She stares at me blankly. 

“Croiset?” I say, struggling to remember how to pronounce the name. 

Her eyes widen and a small smile appears on her face. “Corisilles?” 

I nod with a slight smile on my face. “Yes.” 

She points out past my shoulder with her index finger. “La reviver…” 

I frown, following her finger towards the window where I climbed through then back to her. “The river?” 

“River,” she agrees with a nod. “It goes there. Trees. Corisilles.” 

I let out another sigh of relief, closing my eyes for just a moment. I tenderly reach the back of my head where the wound is exposed and bleeding. I wince with pain and reel with nausea. 

“Assiez-toi,” the kind woman whispers, gesturing towards a chair nearby. 

Sit down, she says. 

My feet could use a break and my eyes could use a little rest. Just a little though. Yeah. Just a few seconds. That’s all. I begin to sway but I don’t move. Her dark brown eyes are wide with concern and worry. She nudges me towards the chair. 

“Asseyez vous. Monsieur.” 

I understand her enough now to obey her. Sit down, sir. I nod sleepily and flop myself down in the wooden chair. My head slumps back and I breathe out long and slow. Relieved and tired. Oh, so tired. Since when was the last time I had a decent good night’s sleep? Still holding the back of my hand with my hand, I close my eyes gently and let the warmth of the fire do its job: warm me. It makes me feel almost delirious now. 

At the corner of my eye, I can tell she’s watching me from behind the chair. Gathering her courage, she takes a couple of steps towards me with a sad smile on her face. I feel her cold hand on mine and I instinctively flinch and hiss through my nose. My shoulders tensing up a bit. 

“Shh, shh,” she soothes, lowering my hand away from my wound on the back of my head. 

Her kindness translates and I begin to relax a little. I close my eyes again and let out a sleepy sigh. I’m almost there, Joe. Just hang in there. The woman inspects my wound carefully. I feel her soft, cold fingers part my hair away so she could get a better look at it, I guess. I guess she found the wound because when she touches it, I hiss and jump, my shoulders tensed up a bit again. 

“Shh,” she whispers. “Relax.” 

I nod numbly, closing my eyes again. She’s very close to me, I can tell. I can feel her breath on the back of my neck. She reaches down and takes a handkerchief out of her dress pocket. She gently dabs at the wound and I hiss again, instinctively flinching but I soon relax again. 

After a few moments of awkward silence and rest, I turn to finally look straight into her dark brown eyes. She smiles sadly at me and I couldn’t help but smile back a little. I glance at Blake’s ring on my finger and my heart aches. He should be here… 

We lock eyes with each other and I smile tiredly at her and nod. “Thank you.” 

My voice cracks with emotion and guilt for turning my back on Blake. Leaving him there with a bloody Hun. How could I be so stupid? I should’ve just put the German out of his misery like I’d advised. But no. Blake was too soft-hearted. All he wanted to do was to help the poor terrified German. I can’t blame him for that. What am I going to tell Joe? Heck, what am I going to tell Leslie? 

The woman nods and continues dabbing at my wound with the handkerchief. I chew on my lip. I don’t know why but I’m hesitant to ask her what her name was. I’ve never really introduced myself to her. This is her home in a way and I’m intruding in her space, her only source of safety. I should at least introduce myself. 

“What’s your name?” I ask. 

She smiles tenderly, tilting her head to one shoulder as she examines me with her eyes. “Lauri.” 

I nod, extending my hand out for her to shake. “Lauri. Beautiful name. My name’s Will. Will Schofield. Pleasure to meet you.” 

She purses her lips together in a tight, shy smile and her cheeks turn a light shade of pink as she nods. She shakes my hand lightly. 

Then, suddenly, from behind Lauri comes a small noise. It sounds like a soft whimper. I glance at Lauri as she lowers the handkerchief from the back of my head and heads over to where the noise is coming from. I glance over my shoulder and notice an old, small mattress lies on the floor. Next to it, I see a drawer from an old chest which has been lined with cloth. Lauri bends down and reaches in. My brows furrow together, curious, as I tilt my head to one shoulder. My eyes widen slightly when I notice a baby is cradled in her arms. 

A baby. I haven’t seen a baby since my nieces were born. I remember cradling the girls just like Lauri is cradling her baby. Nostalgia overwhelms me and homesickness creeps in. 

“Ma petite,” Lauri whispers with a fond smile on her face. 

I stare at the child in complete awe. The baby very much reminds me of my beautiful nieces who are either six or seven years old at this point back home when they were babies. I smile softly at Lauri and the baby. Lauri comes up to me. 

“A girl?” I ask. 

She nods with a warm smile on her face, bouncing the little one gently as an attempt to soothe her. I can easily picture my older sister doing the same with her girls. 

“Que,” she says. “Une fille.” 

I smile widely and there’s a long pause between us. The baby stirs, slowly beginning to wake. She cries. Lauri begins to soothe her and I’m overwhelmed with nostalgia and emotion. The baby soon relaxes and settles down. 

“What’s her name?” I ask. 

“J’ne sais pas,” she says with a shake of her head and a shrug of her shoulders. 

She doesn’t know. A wave of sadness surges through me and I crouch down in front of them, still awed by the fact that a baby is even here. Let alone how much she reminds me of my nieces. The baby can’t even be older than five months old by the looks of it. 

I pull out my sack and begin to rummage in it. Since when was the last time they ate? 

“I have food,” I say. “Here. I have these. You can have them. Here…take them all. For you and the child. Here.” 

I hand her a pile of food, urging her to take it. She purses her lips together and shakes her head sadly. I frown, confused. 

“Elle ne peut pas manger ca,” she says. “Elle a besoin de laite…” 

She struggles to search for an English translation. I stare at her stupidly, blinking. Then it hits me. Of course. A baby like her can’t food yet. She needs milk. 

“Milk?” I say. 

Lauri nods. 

My cold fingers pry the canteen from my belt. I open it and I hand it to her with a small smile on my face. She cocks her head to one shoulder, staring at me in wonder. She smells the canteen and a flash of a beaming and relieved smile crosses her face. She takes the canteen with gratitude and amazement etches onto her tired features. 

“Merci,” she breathes. 

The baby suddenly begins to fuss and whimper. I scoot closer towards them, gently taking the child and smiling fondly at her. 

“Bonjour,” I say and Lauri chuckles. 

The baby’s bright blue eyes locks with mine and I frown a little. They’re blue. Like his. I shake my head a little, trying to push him away from me and I try to focus. Lauri stares at me with worry. I turn back to the baby with a warm smile on my face. 

“Bonjour,” I say again. 

“Avez-vous des enfants?” Lauri wonders. “Children? You?” 

Pain and homesickness fills my chest when she mentions children. No, I don’t. But my nieces are somewhat like children of my own in a way. Just thinking about them hurts me. I gulp thickly and ignore her question. 

I watch the baby intently and try my best to soothe her. “Shh…shh. It’s alright…it’s alright.” 

Lauri smiles fondly and glances up at me from the baby. Locking eyes with me. “Elle vous aime. Countinuez…continuez a parlar…” 

I stare at the baby blankly, wondering what to say. The baby latches her tiny fingers around my index finger and plays with it a little. I smile fondly at her and gulp, letting out a shaky breath. 

“They went to sea in a Sieve they did,   
“In a Sieve, they went to sea.   
“On a winter’s morn, on a stormy day,   
“In a Sieve, they went to sea.” 

The baby’s eyes doesn’t leave mine nor does Lauri’s. Lauri stares at me in complete awe and curiosity. It’s an old poem I used to read to my nieces whenever they’d ask for a bedtime story. Not even half way through and the girls would be knocked out at my side, snoring away softly. I smile fondly at the baby as the memory plays in my head. 

“Far and few, far and few.   
“Are the lands where the Jumblies live!   
“Their heads are green and their hands are blue.   
“And they went to sea in a Sieve.” 

I finish softly. The baby’s settled and has quieted down. She’s hypnotized by my voice. We’re all still for a moment in the firelight. The firelight casting a faint glow across the side of our faces. Suddenly, a distant church bell rings. The noise rolls through the quiet cellar. It startles me for a moment. I silently count the clock strikes in my head as they happen. 

One…two… 

I keep glancing down at the baby but my eyes are filling up with fear. 

Four…five… 

My heart is sinking. I can’t stay here. As much as I’d like too, I can’t. 

Six… 

I hold my breath, lips pursed together in a taut line. The baby’s small and frail fingers still latch onto mine. There’s silence between us. 

I exhale sadly before standing up. Lauri glances up at me with confusion, her brows furrowed together. I head for my pack which is propped up on the corner in the room. Panic surges through Lauri, her brown eyes widening with fear. 

“Le jour,” she breathes. The morning… “Les soldats vont vous voir…They see you. Il fera jour. Vous deveriez attendre. Stay. Stay. Please!” 

I don’t want to leave them here. I don’t but I have too. It’s morning. The 2nd are about to attack or getting ready too. I have lives to save. I turn back to face Lauri and the baby with a sad expression on my face. 

“I have to go,” I sigh heavily as I bend down to pick up my rifle and head to the doorway. I glance over at her at my shoulder, her eyes wide as she pleads for me to stay. I wish I could. I’ll come back for them. I promise. I’ll take them with me. Yeah. Sounds like a plan, Scho. “I’m sorry.” 

I turn around and leave.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schofield encounters Baumer and arrives at the river with time slowly running out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all characters and plot does not belong to me. They all belong to Sam Mendes.

I PUSH THROUGH doorway gently. I see damaged stairs that’re leading up. I slip over the rubble and over the remains of the house. I peer along the empty street. I stay in the shadows, hidden from view as best I can, as I begin to work my way along the street in the direction Lauri had pointed out. The town is eerily silent. I look up at the sky to see if the sun is rising. Thankfully, there’s no light. 

I reach a crossroad. It’s a small crossroad with small alleyways branching off of it. I look around, confused. I think I’m lost… Shouldn’t have tossed that map away. Could’ve been useful by now. Trusting my gut, I decide to take the right and straight into a wide alleyway. I move along it. Quickly and quietly. 

BANG! 

Ahead of me, a door flies wide open revealing warm light which spills out of the open archway and onto the street followed by a German soldier. He appears to be in his mid-thirties. My nose twists with disgust as I hear him vomit. He’s probably drunk, no is. He sways a bit as he vomits, staggering forward. He moans and mutters to himself incomprehensibly. I duck into the darkness of a nearby doorway. 

I hear the German soldier moan again and vomit. I slowly back away inside the small doorway and into what seems to be a small school assembly hallway. Or the remains of it, anyways. Other rooms have been blown together into one large space. Metal beams appear above me. They must be what once was a roof. There’re a few school desks too which are tipped onto their sides. 

To the side of me in the room, a wide arched window lets in shafts of light from the burning church outside. They streak across the inky darkness around me. At the far end of the room is the door the soldier just exited. A small fire burns on the floor by it. Smoke hangs in the room. A couple of empty bottles lie around. I stay in the shadows as best I can, silently scanning the darkness and listening to the pathetic moans from the German soldier a few feet away outside. I glance around, searching for another way out. Away past the German soldier. 

Out of the shadows, steps a man. Another German soldier by the way his eyes widens up at me. I stand frozen solid and so does he. We’re about three feet apart from each other. He’s tall and lanky, sandy-blonde hair all ruffled up, hazel brown eyes shining against the firelight. His peach-colored skin cheeks are covered with dirt and soot, sweat glistens his cheeks and trickles down the side of his forehead. He appears to be in his late teens. He’s doing up his flies. We lock eyes with each other. There’s a long pause between us. Shock plastered on both of our faces. Neither of us wants to be here. 

The kid opens his mouth to scream but I instinctively run forward, cornering him and pushing him against the hard pillar behind the kid’s back. My hand clamped tightly on his mouth to keep him quiet. He struggles slightly and breathes heavily through his nose, eyes wide with fear. We lock eyes with each other again and I slowly raise my index finger up to my lips and shush him. The kid nods slowly with understanding. 

I slowly and cautiously drop my hand away from the kid’s mouth, eyeing him wearily. His eyes locking mine, he sucks in a deep breath and glances over his shoulder, eyes still wide. He opens his mouth. 

“ENGLANDER!” he screams. 

My eyes flew wide open and I jam my hand up against his mouth again out of instinct and we both collapse onto the ground below us. We hit the school floor with a hard thud, my hand still on his mouth tightly as he thrashes beneath me. The sound of the thud echoes through the room. I wince at the noise. 

I gasp as his teeth sinks into the bandage that’s around my palm. He bit me! Well, what was I to expect? I grit my teeth hard against the pain as I force my hand further onto the poor kid’s mouth. I don’t want to do this to him, I don’t want to hurt the boy but I have too, unfortunately. Sorry, kid, I think as my other free hand locks around his throat. Squeezing the strength out of the kid. At the corner of my eye, I see something gleaming against the firelight in the distance. It’s then did I realize he has a knife. With my free hand, I desperately try to wrestle it out of him. The kid thrashes underneath me, kicking my legs and screaming into my hand. We both suddenly roll over to the side. We’re like feral creatures fighting if you saw us in the distance. 

At the corner of my eye, I notice a shadow appearing behind us a few feet away. The German soldier is coming back… 

“Mein Gott, Baumer… Das war ein Fehler. Wir sollten heute Abend zuruck gehen. Vielleicht hat niemand gemerkt, dass wir weg waren,” the German soldier grunts. Baumer? That must be the kid’s name. The German soldier staggers away over to a spot by the fire and slumps down. Rummaging through the pile of empty bottles. Baumer tears a breath through his nostrils and he tries to scream. Scream for help, probably. I squeeze harder on the boy’s neck, pushing his head down into the ground and crushing him into the broken glass and debris. 

“Wo ist der Brandy?” grunts the German soldier behind us. “Du kleiner Schesseir! Wehe du bist damit fortgelufan.” 

Desperately, with his eyes fluttering, Baumer slaps his hands against my chest. I push against him harder. Come on, come on. Just knock out already! The soldier must have heard him, because he says in a weary voice, “Baumer? Wo ist…? Baumer?” 

I can see the soldier at the corner of my eyes. My eyes desperate and full of fear. My focus briefly shifts towards the German soldier. In this moment, Baumer fights back; kicking and clawing and punching at me. But he’s getting weaker now. Good. I turn back to the kid, redoubling my efforts. My hands and arms ache. Acid stings inside my muscles. I’m desperate. My eyes flicker between the German soldier and the kid below me. Baumer’s feet stretch out and scrapes frantically against the cold, hard stoned floor. 

“Baumer?” says the German soldier worriedly. 

The soldier stands and teeters towards us. My heart pounds against my chest with anxiety and my eyes are wide with desperation. My breathing’s hushed and shallow and in short bursts. Suddenly, Baumer’s arms fell limp beside him. His eyes closed. I snap up immediately, scrambling to my feet and I leave my rifle behind me. I leap out of the shadows. The very drunk German soldier sees me, his beady black eyes wide as his jaw drops. I sprint past him and towards the door at the far end of the room. The drunk soldier staggers back with shock and fear. 

“BAUMER!” the German solider wails. 

I’m out of the door now, running, my hands free. My breath sawing at my ears. The sound of the German soldier’s footsteps clump behind me. 

“ENGLANDER!” the soldier cries, his voice going hoarse. “ENGLANDER!” 

His howl chases me as I sprint along the empty street. Doors swing open and echoes chases after me. But that doesn’t stop me. Behind me, I hear the drunk German soldier giving chase and then— 

CRACK! 

A bullet sings off the opposite wall nearly nipping my ear. 

I sprint at full speed, daring to glance over my shoulder. I turn and fifty yards in front of me is another bloody German soldier. It was the same man who chased me across the square! The soldier must have recognized me because as soon as I step into view, he falls into a full sprint towards me. He reaches for his rifle. The soldier shoots but I break towards a left across the street and into a narrow alleyway. I dart down towards it, desperately searching for some escape. The drunk German solider and the others race into the alley behind me. Shots bursts out on the wall next to me. 

To my left, is another corner. I sprint for it and flat out into a flight of stone steps. I leap down, taking three or four at a time. My heart pounds rapidly with adrenaline against my chest. My eyes are wide with fear. My legs ache and so do my arms. My eyes can barley stay open. Sweat trickles down the side of my face, my breath shallowed and hard. I’m so tired. Oh, so, so tired. 

WHAM! 

Suddenly, I’m slammed against a wall. I leap down another flight of stoned stairs. My breaths burn in my lugs. At the bottom of the stairs is a long, straight street about a hundred yards. It’s leading to a bridge. 

I run towards it. 

My heartbeat thunders as I sprint flat out. The street slopes downhill. Yards fall underneath me. I can now see the burning town receding behind me. The sound of the two German soldiers’ footsteps batters down the stairs and the sounds echoes behind me. I glance over my shoulder. I see that they’ve hit the flat street first. They’re about thirty yards behind me. 

I glance ahead of me, where the bridge is. I’m fifty yards away from it. I can make it. I know I can. If I only go fast enough. I have go faster, despite my aching legs. I sprint full out. Shots ring out. Loud and deafening. 

I finally reach the bridge. Bullets ring off the rubble. I keep sprinting. 

Suddenly, without warning, I veer across the street. I put one hand on the stone wall of the bridge and vaults over it. 

I drop forty feet and I plummet into the water. Into darkness. 

*** 

I’m floating. My arms and legs dangle loosely around me, my damp bangs floating in front of my closed eyes. I’m sinking down and down into the water. I struggle to keep my eyes open, my mouth clamped shut and my cheeks puffed out with air. I glance up and scramble towards the surface, my arms clawing at the water around me and my legs pushing from underneath me as I swim up to the surface. 

I resurface, gasping for air, my eyes are wide with fear. I’m numb all over. I glance around me frantically, panic surging through me as I thrash around in the water like a fish out on land. My arms and legs kicking and clawing at the air. My arms merely splashing the water around me, fighting with the weight. I’m cold, shivering underneath the water and from with fear. 

I struggle to loosen my webbing, cursing through gritted teeth as I desperately try to pull it off. Instead of cooperating with me, the webbing just tangles up around my arm and therefore pulling me back down. Finally, after about ten minutes of struggling with the freaking thing, I finally got it off. The webbing is now swallowed up underneath the white water which churns all around me. 

Losing the weight of the webbing, I successfully manage to stay above the water. I glance back over my shoulder. The bridge and the German soldiers are long gone. The water’s fast, flowing in after the rain. Rapids sweep alongside me. 

A felled tree lies across the river. I notice it and grab hold of its branches. I try to haul myself up. But the torrent is too strong to fight against. It rips my hands away and pulls me under again. 

I surface, spluttering and coughing onto the waterline. The rapid continues to pull me through the water at speed. I just go along with it. Letting the water carry me. Letting em be…weightless. I scan the riverbank up ahead. They appear to tower up steeply over me. I look for a way out. Around me are rocks that jut out from the water dangerously. They churn the river into a whirlpool. Spinning me around. 

I’m now traveling backwards downstream. The water drives me hard into a rock, making my wound at the back of my head ten times worse than it was before. The air out of my lungs suddenly blows out of me and I’m disoriented. I sway a bit with my head, blinking the stars out of my vision and barley able to stay afloat. Ahead, I hear a sound. Low and rumbling. I fight to keep my ears above water so I could hear it better. The rapids are getting faster, more turbulent. My eyes widen as I slowly begin to realize what the sound is. It’s the roar of water. 

Panic flashes across my distraught and exhausted face. I thrash, trying to swim to a bank. But it’s too late. I glance over my shoulder and my eyes widen even further. There’s a waterfall up ahead. 

I suck in a huge breath, bracing myself. Suddenly, the waterfall is on me in a flash. 

I go over it. I’m pulled down into the plunge pool and all I see is darkness as water surrounds me. I claw at the air and the water, my legs flinging around as I plummet down the waterfall. After a few moments, I stop thrashing around. I’m weightless underneath the water. Is it over? That was quick. 

Bracing myself, I haul myself up with my aching limbs and I resurface. I gulp in a huge breath of fresh air, gasping. The churning water pushes me free from the falls. I manage to turn onto my back. 

The river is getting wider and deeper. I grab hold of a nearby branch. I let the current carry me down the river. The world around me has turned blue in the pre-dawn light. I’m still gasping for breath. The river sweeps me forward and I’m still gasping for air. Now the tumbling river gradually begins to smooth out into a cool apron of water. I’m almost unconscious. I can feel it coming. My head aches, my eyes slowly flutter close and my head keeps lolling off to my shoulder. My eyes flutter close. 

My eyes fly wide open when I realize I’m slowly dipping down the water. My mouth is barley above the waterline. I sit upright as best I can, spitting out the water. Around me, gray mistrials roll through the pale world and hover over me. Unearthly. They hover above me. I stare at them blankly, blinking at them stupidly. I let the river carry me, slowly pulling me along. Occasional trees line up along the bank. This place seems to be untouched by war. Spared, thankfully. It looks clean and cool and filled with some actual life. I’m fighting against it, but I think this is the end. It’s over. I’m so tired. So, so tired. I can’t keep going. I just want to sleep. I didn’t make it. The 2nd Devons are probably already beginning to attack right now. Joe could be dead right now. There’s no use for me to continue. He’s dead. Poor Les. He’s all alone again. I close my eyes gently, letting out a relieved and tired sigh. I failed. I failed the mission. I failed Erinmore, I failed Blake, I failed Joe. I failed Leslie. I broke a promise. I broke a vow. I’m broken. I’m done. I’m sorry Tom…I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Joe. I’m sorry, Lieutenant Leslie. 

I failed them. All of them. It’s my fault. It’s my fault Tom is dead. It’s my fault Joe is dead. It’s my fault Leslie doesn’t have a family anymore. 

I can’t carry on anymore. I’m tired. So, so bloody tired. I’m cold and hungry and I just want to sleep. I need to sleep, oh just please let me sleep. 

Blake if we’re not clever about this, no one will get to your brother!   
I will.   
Am I dying?   
Yes. Yes, I think you are. 

I stare blankly at the pre-dawn sky above me. Where is he now? Where are you? Where have you gone? 

Myrtle’s having puppies.   
Scho, check this out!   
Bloody hell! Even their rats are bigger than ours!   
PUT ME DOWN! Put me down, please! Put me down, you bastard! 

My throat tightens and I squeeze my eyes shut as I hear his agonized scream play in my head as the Hun stabs him in his abdomen. I see him collapse. 

Talk to me. Tell me you know the way…   
You’ll recognize him. Looks just like me…only a little older. 

Oh, Tom… I’m so sorry… 

Inch by inch, I begin to slowly dip down. My ears fall under the waterline first. The sound is sucked from the world. I just stare blankly upwards at the sky, lips just barely above water. 

I’m coming, Tom. 

Suddenly, I hear birds softly chirping in the distance. I see the tree branches ruffle across the wind. Then the water around me turns flat and it slowly dies down. Then, something catches my eye. Something…white. I crane my neck just a little bit to see what it is a bit more clearly. It’s white alright. I furrow my brows, narrowing my eyes to inspect the white thing which floats around me. I raise my arm weakly above the water and my eyes widen slightly. 

White. Soft and a bit damp. 

Cherry blossoms. 

All around me cherry blossoms drift through the wind, showering me in them. The twirl gently around me and land in the in the water beside me. I lift a finger from the water as the blossom slowly rests on top of it. 

I smile softly. 

Blake.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schofield finds the 2nd. But with time rapidly running out, will he be able to make it to Mackenzie in time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, all plot and characters do not belong to me. They all belong to Sam Mendes.

LIFE SEEPS BACK into me. I break through the icy numbness. My limbs struggle to work in the cold. I fight, though. Willing movement. I swim towards a bank. Ahead, I hear what sounds like a dam. A gentle fountain of water. 

The sun is rising somewhere. The pre-dawn light is beginning to illuminate the world around me. I don’t have much time. There’s still time left! There’s has to be! I reach the dam and I spot a fallen tree nearby. I begin to haul myself out and I glance down. I nearly fainted. 

Bodies. 

Twelve bodies, give or take. All lined up in a row. I recognize a few are soldiers. Both German and British and there are some civilians too. Both men and women. They’ve caught and gathered, blocked by the tree from floating downstream. They form like this kind of dam. I don’t have a choice but to crawl over them. My stomach churns as I lay my hand down on the dead bodies below me, crawling over them inch by inch. My uniform soaking damp, my hair damped and soaked, water dripping from my bangs and down the side of my face and chin. My bandage is soaked through, the wound stinging. My body aches entirely. My head hammers loudly. I gasp with each crawl I take, coughing and spluttering. My nose twists up with disgusts as my knee lands on a dead body’s stomach. I feel like I’m about to throw up. But I restrain myself and hold it in. I make it to the river bank and stumble up onto the slope. I drag myself across the grass and collapse. 

I cry. 

I’m hunched over, my hands clenched in tight fists. My body trembles with each ragged sob. It’s loud and dramatic, but I don’t care. I let out all the emotions I’ve been holding back. My eyes squeezed shut hard as tears roll down my cheeks, mixed with the icy water that’s dripping down the side of my face. I rock back and forth on my knees as I sob as if it to comfort myself. 

I cry. I cry and cry as loud and pathetic as I can. I let it all go. I cry for the river. I cry for life. For Tom. For Joe. For Leslie. For the baby. I just let it all go. The morning is beginning to form. Far off in the distance, I hear something soft. Something soft and low and foreign. I calm down slightly, sniffling. I jerk my head upwards at the sound of…music. My ears perk up and my eyes widen when I hear soft singing in the woods. 

I sit back on my knees, cocking my head to one shoulder. My brows are furrowed together as I push myself up off the ground. It sounds familiar. The singing. I listen, get up, and I walk shakily towards the sound. I stumble here and there but I don’t fall. My frozen limbs are being forced to come back to life as I drag them along the grass. Shafts of morning light sheers through the pine trees’ branches. Unsure if it is real or am I dreaming. I must be dreaming. 

But the song…I recognize it. It’s vaguely familiar. It sounds almost like a lullaby. A lullaby. 

“…There is no sickness, no toil, no danger.   
“In that bright land to which I go…” 

My eyes widen and I shake my head, smiling softly and tiredly. No. No, it can’t be. I know this. I know this lullaby. Tom used to sing this to me whenever I’d wake up from nightmares about the Somme, screaming my throat raw. We’d be hiding out in the meadow back at the 8th. Just the two of us taking a nice afternoon nap. Then, I’d wake up screaming bloody murder. Then, he’d be there. Right next to me, forcing my head onto his lap as his thin fingers comb soothingly through my tangled dark brown hair. I’d stare blankly into the distance, listening to his voice as he sings me this very lullaby to lull me back to sleep. 

I pick my way through the thin trees, eyes wide as nostalgia washes over me and suddenly the music has a source! 

Ahead of me, I see a young soldier standing in a small clearing. In front of me, a British Company, roughly about two hundred men it looks like, are gathered around the young soldier. Listening. 

The young soldier’s voice is young and pure, soft and peaceful. It reminds me of Tom. 

“I’m going there to see my Father,   
“And all my loved ones who’ve gone.” 

I stop on an edge the clearing. Unsettled by the world around me, unsure if the men around me are dead or living. Or if I’m a ghost. I lean against a tree, entranced by the familiar lullaby, and I slump down on the outskirts of the group. The music washes over me. Dawn is breaking. My eyes slowly flutter close and a soft smile appear on my face, dreamy. I see him next to me with his blue eyes twinkling underneath the April morning sunlight. I feel his fingers combing through my dark brown hair as my head rests against his lap. I hear him singing softly. This is the same lullaby Joe used to sing to him as a baby and that he’s passed on to me. Oh, Tom… 

“I’m only going over Jordan.   
“I’m only going home.” 

Then, applause. It’s over and so am I. 

“D Company! Move out!” says a voice, a Captain, I think. 

I hear feet shuffling around me. The men must be standing up. I feel a hand on my shoulder and a voice. 

“You alright, pal?” the voice asks. 

I slowly open my eyes and gasp. I see a pair of legs in front of me. I glance up and see a Private standing before me. 

“Where’re you from?” asks the Private curiously. 

I turn to face the second voice but then to another Private to my left. “He’s probably got wind up.” 

I scoff. You can say that again… 

“Well, he’s not one of us,” the Private to my right says. 

“He’s bloody soaked!” gasps a third Private from behind me. 

A fourth Private rolls his eyes with his arms crossed in front of me, standing next to the one on my right. 

“Eff it,” the fourth one groans. “Let’s just pick him up and take him with us.” 

My head hits the tree again, eyes struggling to stay awake. The four privates around me crouches down in front of me. They stare at me like I’m some kind of zoo animal, cocking their heads curiously and wait for me to say something. 

“Have…” I say, faintly. “Have to…Have to find the Devons…” 

“What’s he saying?” asks the Private to my right. 

“What’s that mate?” the Private with his hand on my shoulder asks, an eyebrow raised. 

I clear my throat, opening my eyes and a bit louder yet croaky, I say, “The Devons. I…I have to find the Devons.” 

The four privates around me stares at me with awe, their faces paled and eyes wide. Jaw slacked open. They all exchange shocked glances with each other before turning back to face me. 

“We’re the Devons,” the first Private gasps. 

My eyes fling open, head jerking upwards. I stare at them with disbelief. No. They can’t be serious, can’t they? Oh my God, they’re serious! I glance around for Joe, hoping he’s in the group with me. But I don’t see him. 

“Y-You’re the D-Devons?!” I shriek, scrambling up to my feet. 

The first Private nearly got knocked over on his feet but he stands his ground and nods. The others exchanged confused glances with each other. 

“Yes, Corp.,” the first Private confirms. 

“Why haven’t you gone over?” I ask, panic surging through me. 

“We’re the second the wave,” says the fourth Private. 

My heart sinks. What if Joe’s… 

“They don’t send us all at once, ya know?” a fifth Private behind my right shoulder chuckles with a shake of his head. 

“We’re D Company. We spent last night digging in. We go last,” the first Private informs me. 

My hands scramble to my pocket, praying silently that the envelope is still tucked in there. I let out a sigh of relief. It still is. The others exchanged worried glances with each other again. 

“You alright?” the first Private wonders with concern. 

I glance up at him, heart pounding in my chest. “Mackenzie. Where’s Colonel Mackenzie?!” 

“He’s down at the line,” says the first Private. 

My eyes widen even further. “Which way?!” 

“This way,” he says with a nod of his head. “We’re heading up there now.” 

I take off, eyes wide and panting. I take off down the line of men, shoving and pushing past through their shoulders. My heart pounds with anxiety. Oh, please. Oh, please don’t go over yet! I push my way through the woods. 

“Oi!” says the first Private, casting a hard glare at me. “Steady on mate! Where’re ya goin’?!” 

I ignore him. I reach the end of the woods. From the break in the trees, I can see the land stretching ahead of me. 

The one-day-old trench is perhaps forty yards away. Beyond it, far in the distance, on the higher ground is a black ribbon across the land. My heart sinks. The German trenches. Even all the way from here, you can just begin to sense the scale of it. A comms trench leads to the front of the trench. I stagger down towards it. 

“MOVE!” I scream, my throat burning. 

I pass through the bunches of men, shoving their shoulders and squeezing in between them. My heart pounding and my eyes are wide. I’m desperate. 

“Let me by!” I pant. “MOVE! Let me THROUGH!” 

I find the first and nearest Corporal he sees by my shoulder. I grab his scruff and yank him back. His eyes are wide and he whips his head around to face me. He begins to open his mouth to probably curse at me but I cut him off. 

“Where’s your commanding officer?!” I demand, eyes glowering at him and a desperate scowl appearing on my face. 

“He’s in the holding pen!” the Lance Corporal gasps, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder and nodding his head towards that direction. 

I release him and sprint down to that direction. I continue to shove past soldiers’ shoulders. As I approach the Holding Area, I slow to a stop. I scan the area back and forth with wide fearful eye and my heart pounding against my chest and in my eardrums. I see the 2nd. Companies A and B. I sprint on. 

The Holding Area is packed with men. I see a Lieutenant, thankfully not Joe, nearby. I rush towards him, breathless and hunching over slightly. 

“B Company! Stand to! Now listen, and listen well!” the Lieutenant shouts. 

My hands are on my knees as I gasp. 

“On the first mark, A Company will advance! B Company will then move to the front line!” the Lieutenant explains, his voice echoing through the Holding Area. 

I lift a shaky hand up to stop him for a moment. He spins around on his heel and he suddenly freezes, his shoulders tensed up a bit. His eyes wide as he sees my wrecked state. 

“Sir! I-I have a message from General Erinmore!” I gasp. 

He stares at me stupidly and blinks, his mouth half opened. “Who the eff are you?!” 

“The attack has been called off!” I rasp out, sucking in large breaths of air, glancing up at him into his beady black eyes. “General Erinmore has called off the attack!” He stares at me again, incredulous and blinking. He bursts out laughing. He doesn’t believe me. 

“Bullocks!” the Lieutenant chuckles, shaking his head with disbelief. “Bullocks, man! We’re about to go over! We’ve got them on the run!” 

“You don’t!” I say frantically. “Please! Don’t send your men over!” 

“Out of the way, Corporal!” the Lieutenant demands. 

I shake my head stubbornly. “There are direct orders from Army command! Where is Colonel Mackenzie?!” 

I brandish out the letter, my fingers shaking. I shove it in his face for proof. It’s still a bit damp from the water in the river, but thankfully it’s still readable. I must look like a madman to the Lieutenant. Or at least, a lunatic. The Lieutenant grabs me from the lapels and hauls me up to my feet. 

“God, man!” the Lieutenant huffs. He shoves me forward, a bit rudely. “Go see the Captain!” 

I stumble forward stupidly as he shoves me away. I stagger forward, determined and desperate. I push through the Holding Area to find the Captain. Behind me, very faint but still in hearing range, I hear the Lieutenant shouting orders behind me. 

“Now, I want us up there quickly!” the Lieutenant orders. “You understand?! Do you understand?!” 

All simultaneously, the men reports back: “Yes, sir!” 

I rush through them, eyes wide and heart pounding in my chest as I gasp for air. I pass through them and into a narrower trench with even more men. Ah, great. This trench has been hastily dug out. It’s little more then a temporary berm, perhaps five feet high by the looks of it. Around me, hundreds of men are crouched down just inside the wall. And I mean hundreds. They just sit there, waiting and preparing themselves for whatever lays ahead. I don’t stop running. I squeeze through the crouched men and down the trench to find the Captain. But instead, I see a Sargent barking out orders in a deep voice, filled with authority. I push past more men to reach up to the Sargent, and still more. 

“Sections 9 and 10 at the ready!” bellows the Sargent. I can hear him easily. He’s not that far up ahead of me. “We will advance on the first whistle blast!” 

I push forward. 

“You must not slow down!” another Sargent reminds the soldiers. “If one man falls, you must keep moving! Your orders are to break the line—” 

He stops when he sees me. I grab him by the collars and yank him towards me so we’re face to face. So close our noses are touching. He stares at me like I have three more heads. 

“Where’s the Captain?” I gasp. 

The Sargent nods his head over his shoulder to Captain a few feet behind him. The poor lad is crouched down, rocking back and forth with his head bowed. “Over there,” the Sargent says, eyeing me suspiciously before turning back to bark more orders. 

I thank him and he nods. I sprint towards the traumatized Captain. I crouch down a little in front of him. He doesn’t meet my eyes. His eyes are wide and wild, sparkling with fear. 

“Sir? Sir!” I gasp, shaking his shoulder roughly. 

The Captain, Ivins, according to his name on his breast pocket, glances up at me with wide eyes. He’s crying. Crystal blue tears stream down his cheeks and he’s muttering something to himself. He’s terrified. 

“Captain,” I say, a bit calmly. “I have a message. The attack is called off. You have to stop. You have to stop—” 

Before I could continue, the air around me vibrates. There’s an impossibly loud sound. I glance up, eyes wide. I suddenly forget to breathe. 

German artillery. 

Shells scream overhead and then a wall of noise. The air seems to tremble. Around me, soldiers press against themselves into the walls of the trench. They take whatever cover they can find. 

“No, no, no,” Captain Ivins to himself, clutching to his forearms around his chest and trembling, shaking his head side to side. 

I turn back to face the Captain. I grab both his shoulders and shake him a bit, forcing him to glance up at me. 

“Where is Colonel Mackenzie?” I ask him. 

Men around me cover their ears and squeeze their skulls but the sound still drowns us. Captain Ivins has his hands over his ears. I try to wrestle his hands away from his ears so I can be heard. 

“Where’s Mackenzie?!” I shout, practically shaking him. 

No response. The noise is too much to bare. 

Some men push their heads against the walls of the trench, screaming into the mud. All voices are lost. Others cower into the Earth. The noise is unbearable, even for me. I leave Ivins and move faster through the line now as men around me crouch and contort themselves low. I push forward. 

Then, twenty yards behind me I hear a loud boom. A direct hit. The concussion from the blast ripples along the narrow trench. The walls around me literally bleed of chalk and Earth. Covering a few inches of me with white dust. In an instant, Ivins, his men and the entire section of the trench just…vanished. I stare at it in amazement. They’ve just…disappeared. 

Suddenly, I’m thrown forward and into the huddle of stunned men. My ears ring loudly and for a minute I can’t hear a thing. But then sound slowly creeps back into the world. Men bursts out raspy screams over the thunder of explosions. I hear a distant voice barking orders and my head jerks up. 

“Bearers!” a Sargent barks. “Stretcher bearers!” 

I drag myself up to my feet and I keep moving along the trench. 

German shells whistle through the muggy air all around. I push my way along. Fountains of mud and iron bursts into No Man’s Land, towering into the sky and showering dirt and shrapnel onto the line. I don’t stop running. I push through the A and B Companies. The trench is getting thinner, tapering in… 

I fight my through now, squeezing through men’s shoulders and running out of space and desperately running out of time. 

The trench narrows even deeper until I can’t get through the men. The Platoons have lost their form. There are no gaps between them. Everyone is packed together in the chaos. The German artillery is increasing now. Every moment is rocked with noise. There’s no space, no silence. 

Ahead of me, about a hundred yards or so, I see that the trench takes another direct hit. But I keep moving towards it. 

Men flow around me and from the damage. Pushing their way towards me. Completely blocking the trench. I push forward until the trench becomes completely impassable. There’s a wall of men. No where to go. 

A burly Sargent is ahead of me. He’s brandishing his pistol, barking out commands and trying to regain some sort of authority and order. But his words are lost in the roar of shells. 

“GET BACK!” the Sargent barks. “Return to your sectors! GET BACK! Hold fast!” 

I push past him and find the nearest C. O. who happens to be someone called Lieutenant Richards. Richards’s eyes are on his men, his revolver in hand. 

“SEVEN PLATOON! ONE MINUTE!” Lieutenant Richards screams. 

I grab him, yanking him back towards me and scream, “Sir! I have orders to stop this attack!” 

Richards looks like he wants to believe me, but I don’t think he does. 

“What?” Richard gasps, eyes wide. 

“Where is Colonel Mackenzie?!” I gasp, panting. 

“He’s further up the line…” Richards says. 

“How far?” I say. 

“Three hundred yards. He’s in the cut and cover,” Richards says. 

We both scan around. Richards turns back to me with a sympathetic expression on his face. 

“You’ll have to wait until the first wave goes over,” Richards sighs. 

I shake my head frantically. “No! No! I can’t!” 

I turn around and look. More shells hit the trench. Chaos. The way to Mackenzie is impassable. My heart sinks. Panic mingles in with desperation. Richards turns back to his men. 

“SEVEN PLATOON!” he shouts. “THIRTY SECONDS!” 

I suddenly climb up on the trench wall and onto the firing step. 

At the corner of my eye, I see Richards turn around and gawks at me. 

“You can’t possibly make it that way, man!” he shouts. “Are you bloody insane?!” 

Yes. Yes, I am. 

Three hundred yards. Open ground and utterly without any cover. It looks as well it may be on the moon. Everything around me slows and suddenly something snaps. I let out a shaky breath. I have no choice. 

“What the hell are you doing, Lance Corporal?!” Lieutenant Richards gasps. 

To be honest, sir, I don’t know. But I have no choice. 

I’m on the top step… 

I stand. 

“NO, NO, NO, NO!” 

I climb over.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Schofield finally makes it to Mackenzie by doing something totally stupid and insane but he makes it. But will he be able to convince Mackenzie to stop the attack and finally complete the mission and therefore save sixteen hundred lives?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Once again, all plot and characters do not belong to me.

IF TOM WERE here right now, he’d kill me. Literally. He’d strangle me, curse at me for doing something totally stupid, scream at me at how big of an idiot I am and slice my head off with an axe in my sleep. And that’ll be my end. 

I’m unarmed completely as I stagger and stumble forward. I’m shocked, now that I’m in the open. Unarmed and completely defenseless. I could get killed easily and all of this would be a waste of time. Then, I start to run and slowly picking up speed. 

Now, I’m sprinting at full pelt and parallel to the trench. My breath burns in and out, sawing in my ears. I don’t stop. 

My legs thump over the Earth. I hear the screech of a whistle. Three short blasts. The roar of men follows me. I keep sprinting to the western trench now as six hundred soldiers pour out of the British front line, running into No Man’s Land and behind me. Hundreds of soldiers. And I mean literally hundreds. They head towards the German front line as I keep sprinting towards the western trench. Pumping one arm in front of the other, one leg in front of the other. My heart pounding, eyes wide, ragged gasps come out of my lungs. 

The German guns erupt again. Men fall in their dozens around me. 

Hundreds more pour over the top. 

I’m only half way there. Come on, come on. I stumble, rolling over myself as a blast nearly hits me, but I pick myself up and keep on going. For Blake. For Tom. The whole world shakes on its axis as shells litter the Earth. The air thunders around me. The ground itself bursts and rolls. A Company are still pouring into No Man’s Land. I’m running and running and running. Running for all my life’s worth. 

I run through the hail of shells and bullets. 

I’m still running. 

My lungs burn and my breath grates in my throat as I run. Behind me, men continue to pour over the top. 

I finally sprint the last few yards. I make a left and I jump directly into the 2nd Command trench. 

I tumble and land amongst the waiting men of B Company who are now in the breech. I careen through them and hit the ground hard. Men gapes down at me in complete horror. I brandish out the message from my breast pocket as a Captain, whose name reads Sandbach, closes in on me. I shove it in his face, breathless and eyes wide. Sweat trickles down my face as my heart pounds with adrenaline against my chest. My blood pumping through my veins. 

“Colonel Mackenzie?” I ask, my voice raspy and breathless. 

The Captain hauls me up to my feet and rudely pushes me in the direction of a dugout. 

“He’s in there!” Lieutenant Richards huffs, shoving me backwards. He turns to his men. “B Company! Two minutes!” 

There’s suddenly a lull in the shelling. The Earth still rumbles above them with the sounds of distant machine guns but the blasts have finally stopped. 

I run, half limping. I cut through the men who are about to ascend towards the top. I push my way through to the entrance of the dugout. 

“Let me through!” I gasp, my voice so hoarse by now you can hardly hear it. 

“Hey, hey!” an Orderly, Dixon his name reads on his breast pocket, shouts. 

“Let me through!” I scream, desperation in my voice. 

I drop down a few steps. But as soon as I do, a second Orderly grabs me from behind. I try to get past, but got nowhere. They’re pinning me to the wall near the dugout, trying to stop me from going in. I struggle to break free out of their grasp. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the Orderly, Byrne, his name reads, demands. 

“I have to get through!” I plead, my voice mewing like a cat and I mentally wince at how pathetic I sound. “I have to see Colonel Mackenzie!” 

“What are you doing?!” demands Dixon. 

“I have to stop the attack! Agh!” I finally manage to push them off of me. 

I finally reach Mackenzie’s dugout ante-room. Two more Orderlies grabs my arms and pins them behind my back. I have no strength to fight them now. I’m too tired. Oh, so bloody tired. But the Orderlies pinning my arms behind me maybe beneficial. Otherwise, I’d probably collapse onto the ground and faint due to exhaustion or something of the latter. My voice is lost in the melee. A captain sweeps by us and straight on in. My eyes are wide and desperate as I eavesdrop on their conversation inside. 

“Colonel, we’ve seen flares. The men on the left made it to the German line,” the Captain explains. 

My eyes widen at the mention of the Colonel. 

“Colonel!” I gasp, raising my voice to the top of my lungs as loud as I can. 

“Hold him!” ordered Orderly Dixon. 

“COLONEL!” I scream, my throat raw and it burning. My voice cracks. I’m almost on the verge of tears for God’s sake. 

The Orderlies drag me out of the dugout. I struggle wildly against them, clawing at them, screaming my head off. 

“Listen to me!” I scream. “Listen to me! I have a letter! I need to see Colonel Mackenzie!” 

“There’s no bloody way you’re going in there, mate!” Orderly Dixon grunts as he struggles against me. 

The Captain exists the dugout and nods at a nearby Sargent. 

“Sergent? Send the next the wave,” the Captain says. 

My eyes are wide and panic surges through me all over. I shake my head frantically. 

“NO!” I scream and with the last bit of strength I have, I throw my elbow into the stomach of one of the Orderlies. The Orderly “Oofs” and doubles over, clutching his stomach. 

I push past them and scramble into the dugout, panting hard. A huddle of officers are inside, their backs to me. A commanding voice emanates from among them. A relieved smile appears on my face and I begin to calm down just a little. 

“Tell Ivins and Murphy to direct their men their men to the left flank. Concentrate everything there,” says who has to be the one and only Colonel Mackenzie. 

My eyes are wide and I gasp sharply, “COLONEL MACKENZIE!” 

He freezes, his head slowly jerking upwards but he doesn’t turn around. I stand a few feet behind him, panting. My legs shake and I’m about to pass out. I can just feel it coming. Mackenzie finally stands straight. He appears to be in his mid-forties at the latest. He’s immaculately tuned, despite the chaos that’s happening around us. He has a small scar across his left eye. I wince, wondering how he’d got that scar. 

“Sir! This attack is not to go ahead! You’ve been ordered to stop!” I gasp out in a rush. 

“Who the hell are you?” Colonel Mackenzie wonders in a soft, slow monotone voice. 

“Lance Corporal Schofield, sir,” I say. “8th. I have orders from General Erinmore to call off this attack.” 

I hold up the letter as proof. The officers all around me react instantaneously. But Mackenzie doesn’t take it. He purses his lips together and hums, his dark brown eyes narrowing down at me. 

“You’re too late, Lance Corporal,” he hums. 

“Sir, these orders are from Army Command!” I protest. “You have to read them!” 

I hold out the letter, shoving it right into the Colonel’s face as proof. It’s now a damp scrap of paper. Hopefully, it’s still readable. 

A Major nearby is listening closely. 

“Shall we hold back the second wave, sir?” asks the Major. 

Yes, I think. 

“No, Major,” Colonel Mackenzie says softly. My eyes widen, jaw dropped. What? “Hesitate now and we’ll lose. Victory is five hundred yards away.” 

Who cares about bloody victory?! Joseph Blake’s life is at stake! Sixteen hundred men’s lives are at stake! Don’t you bloody understand that?! 

“Sir…sir, please. Please. Read. The. Letter,” I say. 

“I have heard it all before,” Colonel Mackenzie says. “I’m not going to wait until dusk or for fog. I’m not calling back my men only to send them out there again tomorrow. Not when we got the bastards on the run. This is their last stand.” 

“The German’s planned this, sir!” I blurt out before I could stop myself. “They’ve been planning it for months! They want you to attack. Read the letter!” 

I say the last part a bit more forcefully and a bit harsh. But what does it matter? 

This catches Mackenzie’s attention. Ugh. Finally. He nods to the Major, Hepburn his name reads on his breast pocket, to get the letter from me. Hepburn takes the letter from my hand, well more like yanks it from me. He hands it to Colonel Mackenzie. My heart pounds and my eyes widen slightly as Mackenzie slowly opens the letter and reads it. His eyes scan the words from left to right, his mouth moving slightly but no words come out. His face is utterly impassive. Inscrutable. I stand there like an idiot, waiting. I chew on the inside of my cheek. 

“Major?” Colonel Mackenzie says after a few moments of anxious silence. 

“Yes, sir?” Major Hepburn squeaks. 

There’s another horrible moment of silence. I gulp thickly, letting out a shaky breath. “Stand them down.” 

I close my eyes and a small smile creeps onto my face. My tensed shoulders relax and slump down a little. I let out a sigh of relief. 

“Yes, sir,” says the Major. 

The Major runs out of the dugout, his feet thumping across the floorboards. There’s a blast of whistles from outside. A sign to stop. 

I did it, Tom. I did it. 

“Call up the Orderlies,” Colonel Mackenzie orders to his officers. “Tend the wounded. Hold the line in case they counter.” 

“Yes, sir,” the Officers reply, saluting Mackenzie before stomping out of the dugout. 

The Officers empty out of the dugout. Noises of orders being shouted and whistles blowing seep in from outside. 

There’s a long beat. I sense Mackenzie closing in on me. I open my eyes tiredly and slowly stand to attention. Mackenzie narrows his eyes at me, his eyes flicker up and down. He hums through his pursed lips and speaks quietly even though it’s only the two of us in the room. 

“I hoped today would be a good day,” Colonel Mackenzie hums softly, his nose nearly touching mine. He’s that close to me. I gulp awkwardly and shrink back a little. “Hope is a dangerous thing.” 

I stand still, don’t respond, and lock eyes with him. 

“That’s it for now,” Mackenzie sighs. “Then next week, Command will send a different message. Attack at dawn.” 

He stares right into my eyes. His voice dangerously low. 

“There is only one way this war ends. Last man standing.” 

Mackenzie scans me up and down. “Have someone check your wounds.” 

I’m frozen. Shocked. 

“Now eff off, Lance Corporal,” Mackenzie says, his voice stern. 

I nod slowly and tiredly. I turn slowly around to leave the dugout. Major Hepburn stands just outside the door. He grabs my arm as I pass him, yanking me back a bit. I turn to face him. I probably look like a dead body to him. 

“Well done, lad,” Major Hepburn says with a pat on my shoulder. 

I gulp and nod. “Thank you, sir.” 

A beat. I bite the bottom of lip as I hesitantly ask, “Do…Do you know where Lieutenant Blake is, sir?” 

“Blake?” Major Hepburn asks, arching an eyebrow underneath his metal helmet. 

“There were two of us,” I stutter, letting out a shaky breath. I see him on the grassy meadow, cradled in my arms. My hand over his. Am I dying? Yes. Yes, I think you are. I close my eyes for a minute to refocus before letting out another shaky breath and opening my eyes slowly. My voice cracks. “I was sent here with his brother…” 

Major Hepburn stares at me. He looks for Tom, but doesn’t see him. I glance down at my boots, guilt making my chest tight and it’s suddenly hard to breathe again. Major Hepburn nods with understanding. 

“Ah…” he breathes, closing his eyes a little. Then opening them. “Well, knowing Lieutenant Blake he would have gone over with his men. He was in the first wave.” 

“How can I find him, sir?” I ask shakily. 

“You could try the casualty clearing station. Otherwise…” 

He doesn’t need to finish. I nod. 

“Thank you, sir,” I whisper. 

“MAJOR HEPBURN, SIR!” a Corporal shouts. 

Major Hepburn turns and leaves. I stand there for a moment while I orientate myself back into reality. I let out a soft sigh and exit the 2nd Trench. 

The sound of wounded and the dying pass by me. I can’t bare to look at them. The Germans have stopped for now. There’s a brief pause and I begin walking along the line now. The B, C, and D Companies are gathered. They pull in the survivors and carry dying and wounded men along the trench. Lifting them by hand where they have no stretchers. I continue along, searching for officers. For Joe. No one looks at me. No one even sees me. I slip past them like a ghost. 

I turn a corner and push my way along the zig-zag length of the trench. Stretcher bearers push past me and pressing me against the wall. I see a Sargent walk by and I grab his arm before he could take another step. 

“Sergent, I have to find Lieutenant Blake. Do you know where he is?” I ask. 

“No,” the Sargent snaps. 

My heart sinks. I follow them up a slope and onto a grassy meadow. The sun is up now. Cool breeze ruffling through the grass around my ankles. It tickles a bit. Birds chirp as they fly overhead. Soldiers meander through the meadow with wounded or dying men. Officers barking out orders. 

The meadow is an impromptu field station where overwhelmed medical officers and Orderlies and Chaplains from the RMAC tend to the wounded. I move to a nearby tent, heart pounding. 

“Sir, is a Lieutenant Blake here?” I ask a medical officer nearby. 

He shrugs. “No idea.” He shoos at me with his hands. “Move along, Corporal.” 

I walk through the tent, scanning the wounded. Looking at the faces, at the bodies… 

You’ll recognize him. Looks just like me. Only a little older. 

“If you can walk, move to a triage area,” a medical officer snaps. 

None of the men around me are officers. None of them are Joe. 

“Lieutenant Blake? Blake! Has anyone seen Lieutenant Blake?!” I scream, desperation in my voice. I spin around in a slow circle. No Joe. 

I move through the tents of gravely wounded men. Oh, the terrible sounds of dying. None are Joe. I move outside now. I finally stand still, hopeless. All of this was for nothing. All of this was just a waste of my time. Joe’s gone. He’s dead. He has to be. I’m so sorry, Tom. I’m so sorry Leslie… 

“Now come on boys! He’s taken a one in the leg! He’s lost a lot of blood!” a voice says. 

My head jerks up and my eyes fly wide open. I spin around to see an officer. He’s following a stretcher bearer into the field station from the opposite direction. I cock my head to one shoulder. It’s not just any officer. It’s a Lieutenant. I gulp. He even sounds like him. 

“Lieutenant Blake?” I say. 

The Officer stops and slowly turns to me. I gasp. Oh my God. Joe’s similarity to Tom nearly takes my breath away. My eyes widen at the sight of him. He has Tom’s square-like face but more muscular. His cheekbones pop out. He has Tom’s same dark curls. His same icy blue eyes. Dirt scraps Joe’s cheeks. He’s tall and lanky. Handsome. Just like you…only a little older… 

“Yes?” says Joe as he glances at me over his shoulder. 

I let out a relieved breath. I nearly sob. I begin to sway a little as I stagger towards him. He’s okay, Tom. Joe’s okay… 

Joe sees me staggering and he rushes up to me. He puts one hand on my shoulder and the other on my arm to steady me. He scans me up and down, concerned. 

“Do you need medical assistance?” Joe asks worriedly. 

I shake my head, standing back up on my feet. “No, sir. I’m from the 8th.” 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” Joe gasps, eyes wide with shock and impressiveness. 

I gulp. How to tell him? “I was sent here to deliver a message—” 

“Wait, wait. The 8th?” Joe says and I nod. “Then, you must know my brother!” 

He smiles a little at me. I gulp again. 

“I…I was sent here with him…” I say, well, more like whispered. 

“Tom’s here?” Joe beams, eyes wide and his smile widening. I wince. He scans around for his brother. “Where is he?” 

I gulp again and stare at him. I don’t need to say anything. Joe’s eyes widened and his smile fades. He slowly shakes his head. I bite my lower lip to stop myself from sobbing. Joe’s lips quiver as he shakes his head. 

“It was…very quick,” I whisper and it was. 

Joe shakes his head, tears beginning to swarm in his eyes. His breaths become ragged now and sharp as he tries to control his emotions. His grief. He mouths “No” over and over again. 

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. 

Joe lets out a sharp gasp and I bow my head down. His hand flies up to his mouth to stifle his choked sobs. His body shakes and his knees begin to buckle underneath him. I want to comfort him. I really do. But I’m afraid if I do, he’ll punch me or something. I let Joe have a moment to regain himself. After about ten minutes, he sniffles and lets out a shaky breath before turning back to face. Tears now stained his dirt-filled cheeks. 

I sniff myself and gulp down the tears that’re threatening to roll down my cheeks like waterfalls. I open my tunic and pull out Tom’s possessions. There’s blood on them. I stare at my hands with his blood covering them. I let one tear slip down my cheeks before glancing back up at Joe who more or less glowers at me. I hand the possessions to Joe. Tears begin to swarm in Joe’s eyes again as I place them in his palm. Joe gulps thickly before letting out a shaky breath. He closes his palm and presses his knuckles to his lips. He closes his eyes for a few minutes and just stayed quiet. 

After a few minutes, Joe finally opens his blue eyes and lowers his palm to his side. He clears his throat and sniffs before glancing up at me. 

“What’s your name?” Joe asks hoarsely. 

“Schofield, sir,” I say. 

Joe nods but he doesn’t seem to hear me. He keeps staring at his enclosed palm with Tom’s possessions inside. His lips quiver and he glances up at me, realizing that I’ve said something. 

“I’m sorry…what?” Joe says. 

“It’s Schofield, sir,” I repeat. I clear my throat. “William Schofield. Will.” 

“Well. You need some food. Get yourself to the mess tent,” Joe orders, glancing over his shoulder and not meeting my eyes. 

I nod and slowly turn around. But then, I pause. I frown, seeming to remember something. 

Will you write to my Mum for me? Tell her I wasn’t scared… 

I turn around to face Joe again. I hesitate, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “If I may…I’d like to write to your mother? Tell her that Tom wasn’t alone.” 

Joe nods curtly. “Of course…” 

I search for something to say. And then something clicks. 

“He was a good man,” I say and he was. One of the best men I’ve ever known. “Always telling funny stories.” 

Joe smiles weakly, his lips wobbly. He chuckles and shakes his head. “Never stops bloody talking, does he?” 

I chuckle softly and shake my head. “No, sir.” 

He frowns again as he stares at his palm. He gulps and lets out a shaky breath. 

It’s not enough. 

“He saved my life.” 

And he did. 

Scho! Scho?! Scho?! Wake up! Wake up! Get up! Get up! WAKE UP! The whole thing’s coming down! You keep hold of me, you hear?! Don’t let go! Stop! Stop! It’s a mineshaft! We have to jump! You have to jump! Trust me! You keep hold of me! Don’t let go! There’s light! I see light! Don’t let go! Don’t let go! 

Joe smiles softly and a choked sob escapes him. He nods. “That’s my baby brother.” 

I smile softly and nod. I extend my hand out for him to shake. He stares at it for a minute, rather blankly. Joe glances up at me and smiles warmly. He nods. 

“I’m glad you were with him,” he says. “Thank you, Will.” 

I nod again. I turn and walk away. I’m like a sleepwalker. Unsure where to go. 

I move from the makeshift Aid Post and into the meadow beyond. 

The grass sways in the breeze. This place is beginning to turn gold in the morning sun. I drift through it. The noise and horror behind me gradually fades as I head to an oak tree. It towers over me and is untouched. On the high branches, leaves dance in the wind. 

I head towards it. I slide down the trunk slowly, my poor aching legs stretching out before me. The land beyond me glows in the early morning light. I listen to leaves rustle through the wind, the birds chirping quietly. I sigh heavily through my nose before undoing my breast pocket. I pull out my tobacco tin. I stare at it in my blood-stained hands. My hands shake. I take a long breath in and slowly exhale. 

I gulp as I slowly open it. Inside, I pull out two photographs. I stare at them blankly and numbly. 

One is my two beautiful nieces. Their smiles sending life back into me. My heart swells at them and a small smile creeps on my face as I stroke the photograph with my thumb. I pull the second one out. My smile fades when I see her. My older sister. She smiles thinly at me. I flip the card over and read her message, a reminder to keep me going, in her beautiful cursive handwriting are four words: 

Come back to us 

I will. 

I tuck the photos back in and clip the tobacco tin shut. I tuck the tin back into my breast pocket. 

I rest my head against the trunk, staring out at the beautiful sunrise. 

I close my eyes. 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who read and commented on this story. This is my first fic of a sort posted on Archive of Our Own. I still can't believe I wrote that entire film as a story. It's my first story I've ever completed and it's probably one of the best I've written. Thank you to Sam Mendes who created this beautiful masterpiece! Also, if any of you have any other BlakeField story suggestions or prompts or ideas or any other story ideas, don't hesitate to request them. I could use some ideas!


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